The Wickedest Lord Alive Read Online Free

away their inhibitions or they simply belonged to a more licentious generation, hobnobbing with the elderly female denizens of Little Thurston was quite an education.
    In some strange way, she felt more comfortable with them than with many ladies of her own age, whose chatter was entirely of fashion and husbands and babies. All except for Clare, whose idea of a comfortable coze was a keen political debate.
    Picking up her basket, Lizzie tucked her other hand in the crook of Clare’s arm. “Let’s go. You must rest and primp for the ball and I must call on the Minchins and Lady Chard.”
    “Ha!” said Clare. “Rest and primp, indeed. No, I shall draft my next petition.”
    Clare wished to be a politician, but given that ladies were not allowed to vote, much less stand for Parliament, she had to content herself with plaguing the life out of Mr. Huntley, their resident MP.
    “Poor Mr. Huntley,” murmured Lizzie.
    “Well, he can stand down if he doesn’t like it, can’t he?” said Clare with relish. “Only, we’d need another candidate, and there is no one I can think of who might be half as worthy. Besides Tom, but he won’t do it,” she said, glumly dismissing her brother. “That is why it’s so important that I marry.”
    “So you can plague your new husband instead,” said Lizzie.
    A heavy tread preceded the large figure of Mr. Huntley, MP, himself. He was moderately handsome, with a thick head of light brown hair and kind gray eyes. He was only in his twenties, but election to Parliament at an early age had lent him a confidence and slightly ponderous dignity that made him seem older than his years.
    Lizzie curtsied to him. “Mr. Huntley, we were just speaking of you.”
    His face lightened until he noticed Clare and gave a slight recoil. “Ah,” he said, adjusting his cravat. “Yes. No doubt.”
    After a slight pause during which Clare simply looked enigmatic, Mr. Huntley brightened again. He clapped his hands together and held them clasped while he surveyed the room. “Delightful, Miss Allbright! Simply delightful! But then you always do us proud, my dear.” He waggled a finger at her. “I shall claim a waltz from you tonight, you know.”
    “What a surprise,” muttered Clare.
    “I should be happy, Mr. Huntley,” said Lizzie, with another curtsy and a covert glare at her friend that said behave . Clare rolled her eyes in response.
    To distract him from Clare’s rudeness, Lizzie asked Mr. Huntley how his mother did—a topic that never failed to elicit a lengthy response. So it proved that afternoon, and the long history of Mrs. Huntley’s illnesses and megrims occupied at least a quarter of an hour, time that Lizzie could ill spare.
    She was hard put to keep her attention fixed, until Huntley said, “It is a vast pity my mother’s poor health prevents her from attending the assembly this evening.”
    His regard rested on Lizzie in a way she could only construe as meaningful. A vast pity she had not the slightest idea to what he referred.
    “Indeed, sir?” she said.
    He grasped his coat lapels and rocked a little on his heels. “Yes, for I expect to make an important announcement at supper, you know. I may leave you to guess what it will be about.”
    “Good grief,” muttered Clare.
    “An important…” Lizzie looked from her friend to Mr. Huntley and back again. Understanding came in an unwelcome rush.
    Oh, dear . Mr. Huntley was at it again.
    “Really, sir,” said Lizzie. “I cannot think what you mean.”
    Now his eyebrows and his index finger waggled in unison. “Ah, you mean to tease me, Miss Allbright, but I vow you take my meaning.” He made an arch sort of moue. “Until tonight, then, ladies.”
    With a bow that owed more to correctness than grace, Mr. Huntley left the ballroom.
    There was a silence. Then Lizzie blew out a long breath. “Do you think he’ll actually do it this time?”
    Clare snorted. “Of course not. Mrs. Huntley’s vapors are more than a match for