Wedding Night Revenge Read Online Free

money had been wagered in the past on who would successfully woo and win her, then unceremoniously ditch her in a very public way.
    So, when in London, she allowed a few stupid fellows to come calling and take her for a drive in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour; she encouraged them to visit her parents' box at the opera or theatre. Just as gossip was fomenting over what seemed to be a particular attachment between herself and a town dandy, she would scupper it by snubbing him forthwith, thus reinforcing her reputation as a callous little tease. She had no regrets; and she had no conscience over it, she told herself, apart from the very mundane one of never having profited herself from a little flutter on the outcome of the gentlemen's puerile games.
    The horses snickered, jolting her to the present. Her eyes flicked up, met a narrowed blue stare fringed by the longest lashes. Something turbulent...frustrating inside her stilled, became calm.
    Oh, it's him...and he knows me; he thinks he knows what I'm brooding on too. He knows nothing of how I really feel. Do I know how he feels? Is he still angry at me? Still bitter and resentful at having been publicly humiliated? It must have been awful for him...so humbling... There's nothing in his face...no emotion at all. Why is he passing himself, off as a lord?
    Simply to impress that weasel of a judge?
    If so, the ploy had worked. The hackney carrying Arthur Goodwin to court passed close by on wobbly wheels, and the magistrate's face appeared at the window. A tentative, conspiratorial smile flickered at Lord Devane before he was borne away.
    The dray and coal cart soon followed the hackney. His lordship inclined his dark head in acknowledgement of their waves and shouted farewells.
    'Noblesse oblige,' Rachel muttered sourly beneath her breath. It mattered little whether he was now a real aristocrat or afflicted by delusions of grandeur, he was simply Major Flinte to her and thus she need not fret over offending him. That, in all its terrible effect, was already achieved...
    'Remove your hand, please, so we might leave,' she instructed coolly.
    Lucinda, who had been quietly watching the tense, wordless interaction between the couple, spluttered out, T am Mrs Saunders, Lucinda Saunders. I am very grateful for your assistance, my lord. It could have ended badly had you not intervened. Thankfully, all has turned out well...' A meaningful look then slid to her friend, inviting Rachel to take up the conversation.
    'And you are...?' a soft voice prompted.
    Rachel swung her head about, looked levelly at him. 'Oh, I am...very grateful for your assistance, too, sir. And you are...about to be so good as to immediately step aside so that I might get along home.' Rachel tapped Ralph's arm and settled back into the squabs.
    Ralph looked abashed. He looked at their Good Samaritan, he looked at his churlish mistress. He settled on looking off into middle distance. The horses remained idle.
    'Shall I tell you what I think you are?'
    Rachel felt the cheek turned to him prickle, her heart slowly thud. 'You obviously have time to waste, sir. I have none; but if you must accost me, please make it quick, for I am getting quite impatient.' She flicked her golden head, gazing past his broad shoulders encased in finest taupe material. 'As is your carriage companion. I believe she is trying to attract your attention.' Her flitting eyes had alighted on an olive-skinned visage peering at them over a sherbet-pale shoulder. The Italian woman was practically bouncing on the seat as she shifted back and forth in irritation, and her head turned every few seconds to stare at them. The diva had certainly lost her air of cool sophistication along with her trio of admirers: Lord Harley's curricle was just turning left at the top of the street.
    Connor Flinte seemed little interested in his phaeton or its passenger. Just an idle glance arrowed that way and he seemed no more inclined to rush off than before. In fact, he