Free Ten Things I Love About You by Julia Quinn Page B

was a rogue. (Again, the nephew.)
    He was probably penniless and spent a great deal of time with his cousins on the other side of his family. (Definitely the nephew, and in fact, it had better be the nephew, because if Annabel married Lord Newbury and he turned out to be penniless, she was going to be
livid.)
    Annabel had left the ball straightaway after the disastrous interlude on the heath, but apparently Mr. Grey had not. He must have made quite an impression on Louisa, because this morning, good heavens, it was all she could talk about.
    Mr. Grey this, and Mr. Grey that, and how was it possible that Annabel hadn’t seen him at theparty? Annabel had shrugged and made some sort of
I can’t imagine
type of comment, but it didn’t matter because Louisa was still nattering on about his smile and his eyes which were
gray
and oh wasn’t it just the most marvelous coincidence and oh yes, everyone had noticed that he departed on the arm of a married woman!
    This last bit did not surprise Annabel. He’d told her quite plainly that he’d been cavorting with a married woman before she’d tripped over him.
    But Annabel had a feeling that this was a
different
married woman. The one on the blanket had been careful of her reputation, departing the scene well before Mr. Grey. No one who practiced such discretion would be so brazen as to leave on his arm. Which meant it had to be someone else, which meant he’d been with
two
married women. Good heavens, he was even worse than people said.
    Annabel pressed her fingers to her temples. No wonder her head hurt. She was thinking too hard. Too hard, and about items too frivolous. If she had to develop an obsession, couldn’t it be about something worthwhile? The new Cruel and Improper Treatment of Cattle Act would have done nicely. Or the plight of the poor. Her grandfather had been ranting about both this week, so Annabel had no excuse for not developing an interest.
    “Is your head bothering you?” Louisa asked. But she wasn’t paying much attention. Frederick, her ridiculously fat basset hound, had spotted a fellow canine in the distance and was yanking on the lead. “Frederick!” she yelped, tripping a step or two before she found her footing.
    Frederick stopped, although it wasn’t clear if it was due to Louisa’s hold on the lead or outright exhaustion. He let out a huge sigh, and frankly, Annabel was surprised that he didn’t collapse on the ground.
    “I think someone has been sneaking him sausages again,” Louisa grumbled.
    Annabel looked elsewhere.
    “Annabel!”
    “He looked so
hungry,”
Annabel insisted.
    Louisa motioned toward her dog, whose belly slid along the grass.
“That
looks hungry?”
    “His eyes looked hungry.”
    Louisa gave her a skeptical look.
    “Your dog is a very good liar.”
    Louisa shook her head. She was probably rolling her eyes, too, but Annabel was watching Frederick, who was letting out a bored yawn.
    “He’d be quite good at cards,” Annabel said absently. “If he could speak. Or had thumbs.”
    Louisa gave her another one of those looks. She was very good at them, Annabel thought, even if she saved them for family.
    “He’d win against you,” Annabel said.
    “That’s hardly a compliment,” Louisa answered.
    It was true. Louisa was abysmal at cards. Annabel had tried everything—piquet, whist,
vingt-et-un.
For someone who was so good at keeping every emotion off her face in public, Louisa was dreadful when it came to games. Still, they played, mostly because Louisa was so bad it made it fun.
    She was a good sport, Louisa.
    Annabel looked down at Frederick, who had,after about thirty seconds of standing in place, plopped his bottom down on the grass. “I miss my dog,” she said.
    Louisa looked over her shoulder toward her aunt, who was still engrossed in conversation. “What was his name again?”
    “Mouse.”
    “That was very unkind of you.”
    “Naming him Mouse?”
    “Isn’t he a greyhound?”
    “I could have named