The Rake's Mistress Read Online Free Page A

ample proof that night that Miss Raleigh was no Cyprian. Despite the misleading circumstance of finding her in the Archangel’s carriage,her appearance and demeanour were as far removed from that of a courtesan as was possible to find. The Angels would not be seen dead in the shabby gentility that had characterised Miss Raleigh’s clothing. Not that she was in any way an antidote. Lucas suspected that, if suitably attired, Miss Raleigh might outshine some of the accredited beauties of the season. Her hair had been a lustrous dark russet beneath that ugly bonnet, her figure was extremely neat and her blue eyes were magnificent. He had noticed. Of course he had. He would defy any red-blooded male to look at Miss Rebecca Raleigh and not feel a flicker of interest, to study her mouth and not want to kiss her…
    Lucas shifted his shoulders beneath the damp material of his jacket. If Miss Raleigh defended herself so effectively against all comers, then such thoughts were quite pointless. Lucas had been on the wrong end of plenty of weapons in his time in the army, but this had been the first on which he had been menaced by an engraver’s scribe. He accepted wryly that it was no more than he deserved for trying his luck. It had been a deliberate challenge he had thrown down to her—and she had responded with a coolness and a courage that had won his admiration. Lucas smiled to himself. Miss Raleigh had not liked him, but all the same, she had not been indifferent to him as a man. She had been unable to hide that from him. He had seen itin her eyes when he had touched her. There had been a vulnerability about her then that she could not conceal.
    He finally turned into Grosvenor Square and ran up the steps into the house. Byrne, the butler, noted his rain-soaked jacket but made no comment beyond the very faintest of raised eyebrows. The servants were accustomed to Stephen arriving back in all manner of disarray. To see Lucas in a like state was very unusual.
    Stephen was awaiting him in the library, faultlessly attired in buckskins and a jacket of blue superfine. Lucas shrugged off his own jacket and handed it to the footman before making his way across to the table and pouring himself a brandy. He waved the glass at Stephen.
    ‘One for you, little brother?’
    Stephen nodded. There was a wary look in his eyes as he watched Lucas pour for him. He took the proffered drink with a word of thanks and waited until Lucas had taken his seat by the roaring fire before he did the same.
    Lucas sat back with a sigh, removed his neck-cloth and stretched his legs out towards the blaze. His eyes were fixed on the flames. By now he was fairly convinced that Miss Raleigh had been telling the truth and he certainly did not believe Stephen capable of carrying off a deception. Without turning his head, he said, ‘So tell me, Stephen, howcomes it that I find you conveyed home in a carriage belonging to the Archangel Club?’
    Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stephen jump and spill his brandy on his jacket sleeve. Stephen cursed under his breath. He had paled and now fixed Lucas with a pleading look.
    ‘The Archangel? But I had no notion…I mean…Oh, Lord!’
    ‘Oh, Lord, indeed,’ Lucas said, very drily. He smiled. ‘Are you telling me, Stephen, that you have had no dealings with the Angels before tonight?’
    ‘I haven’t had any dealings with them at all!’ His brother protested. ‘I only jumped in the curst coach because it was passing and I did not know what to do!’
    Lucas looked at him. His younger brother had never been the brightest apple in the barrel, and when Lucas had discovered that he would be nursemaiding Stephen around London for a few weeks he had roundly cursed his elder brothers who had assigned him the task. It could not be helped—Justin, the Duke of Kestrel and head of the family, was at his estate in Suffolk and Richard was on his honeymoon, and not even Lucas could blame him for prioritising his married bliss