Scandal of The Season. Christie Kelley
NO MAN’S MISTRESS
It suddenly struck him that she was lying. Perhaps it was his gambler’s intuition, but he knew a bluff when he saw one. And Victoria Seaton was bluffing.
“And if I’m forced to kiss you?” The soft tone of his voice underlied the anger he felt at her lying to him again.
“I shall be forced to endure it.”
“Shall we see just how you do at enduring my kisses?”
Before she could back away, he pulled her close and brought his lips down on hers. The anger that he felt at her lying softened as her lips opened slightly. Taking advantage, he deepened the kiss, savored the tentative touch of her tongue against his.
She pressed her body to his and lifted her arms to wrap around his neck. He still had some lingering doubts about her bluffing. For some reason she acted as if she wanted to push him away, but her kiss told him the opposite. But was her reaction a learned response from her profession? Did she like to play the innocent prostitute?
As she responded to him, his body begged him to walk her to the bed. He couldn’t do that while there was still the incident of ten years ago between them. She would hate him forever if he did. And for some odd reason, he didn’t want that.
Slowly he lifted away from her and smiled down at her bemused face. The look on her face was not the look of a woman enduring his kiss.
He lifted her chin upward. “If you keep kissing me like that, I might even believe you want me.”
Books by Christie Kelley
Every Night I’m Yours
Every Time We Kiss
Something Scandalous
Scandal of the Season
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
SCANDAL Of The SEASON
Christie Kelley
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank my sister, Louise Kelley, RN, FNP, for her assistance with my questions regarding infections and fevers. You’re the best! Oh, and I’m sure I’ll be calling on your expertise again.
A big thank you to my critique partner and friend, Kathy Love, for reading through this book at lightning speed and helping me sort out my plot. I think I still owe you a glass (maybe a bottle) of wine for that.
Another thank you to my critique partners, The Tarts. Kate Dolan, Kathy Love, Janet Mullany, and Kate Poole thanks for reading what I could get to you and for helping me plot this thing out.
And my heartfelt thanks to Peter Senftleben, my editor, for giving me the extra time needed to get Somerton in line.
Last but certainly not least, thanks to my husband Mike and my sons Stephen and Tommy. Thanks for understanding when I had to shut myself in my office to finish this book. I love you all!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Chapter One
London, 1807
Her smile attracted him like a beacon on that damp, cold night, drawing Anthony nearer to her warmth. But his friends yanked him away from the beautiful woman selling oranges. The force propelled him into the cobbled street. A hackney veered to the left just in time, preventing Anthony Westfield, Viscount Somerton from obliteration before ever giving his father the one thing he wanted—a proper heir.
Anthony stood and then stumbled back over the cobbles, landing at the woman’s worn brown boots. Perhaps he shouldn’t have had that third, or was it fourth?, glass of brandy. Trey and Nicholas pulled him to his feet.
“Are you all right, sir?” she asked in a small voice.
She couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Her big eyes looked light, possibly blue, in the pale illumination of the moon. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her. Whenever he passed this street, she was there with her basket of oranges and a shy smile for him. Every time he saw her, he felt this pull of attraction to her. She had always favored him with a bright smile, but now her face appeared lined with concern. For him.
“Fine,” he mumbled. “Just a bit too much brandy tonight.”
Her blond eyebrows lowered in what could only be condemnation. She wasn’t the only one who would disapprove of his behavior tonight. Unless he completely sobered up by the time he arrived home, he would catch a severe dressing-down by his father. First gambling, then drinking, and he had an idea of what his friends had in mind next, not exactly proper behavior for the son of an earl. At least in his father’s opinion.
Anthony continued to stare at the woman. He wanted to know her name, discover if the scent of oranges was purely from the fruit she sold or if it permeated her skin. Yet once again, his friends pulled him away from her, this time more gently.
“Good night, fair lady,” he said as they dragged him away from her.
“Good night, sir.” The light sound of her musical voice carried to his ears.
“No more drooling over a woman who isn’t about to give you what you want,” Nicholas said with a slight slur to his voice. “And we’re not about to let you swive some poor innocent.” He turned his head and smirked at them both. “One of you should have some experience.”
Trey and Nicholas led him around the corner to a house on Maddox Street. After a very successful evening of gambling, his two friends had accomplished the not so difficult task of getting Anthony foxed. Perhaps they knew it was the only way to convince him to come with them. He looked up at the house and shook his head. As a man entered the building, the sound of merriment filled the air.
“Where are we?” Anthony asked, knowing their likely location.
“Lady Whitely has the cleanest girls in town,” Trey replied.
The women might claim to be clean,