Free Once Upon a Scandal by Delilah Marvelle Page B

she didn’t want to admit it, his mind had disintegrated far too much, and no amount of love she had to give was going to change that. She was never going to have her father back. Not ever. Not the one she loved and not the one she wanted. “I understand.”
     

 

     
     

    SCANDAL FIVE
     
    We are forever warned never to bargain with the devil. But the devil is far too busy gathering souls to have any time to barter with mere mortals. ’Tis mortal men a lady should in fact beware. Especially those men who ardently claim to be gentlemen. In truth, the only thing gentle about these men are the deceiving little words they coo. — How To Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown
    Three days later, evening
On the far east side of London
    JONATHAN PIERCE Thatcher, Viscount Remington, slammed the door of the quarters he was letting for the month and leaned heavily against it after his brisk walk through the city. He’d forgotten how dirty, dreary, cold and wet London could be. Five years cocooned in Venice had certainly warped his once-genuine appreciation for London.
    A lone candle flickered its greeting within the sconce hanging on the stained plaster walls of the corridor. Reveling in the silence, he pushed away from the door. Removing his leather gloves and top hat, Jonathan stripped away the damp cloak from his shoulders and tossed everything into the crate at his booted feet. He paused, noticing a set of muddy prints that were not his own.
    A pulsing knot seized his stomach. Was someone stupid enough to try to rob him? Reaching beneath the back of his damp evening coat, he yanked his dagger from the scabbard attached to his waist. Tossing it into his right hand, he gripped it and pointed the blade out to the side.
    He edged into the adjoining room, his muscles tightening. The burning coals in the hearth sent dim light and fuzzy shadows shifting across barren walls and the dilapidated brass bed in the corner. The broad back of a tall, blond-haired gentleman in an expensive greatcoat lingered before the fire. Black leather-gloved fingers tapped the rim of his top hat.
    “Grayson.” Jonathan lowered his blade and blew out a breath, his body relaxing. “I wasn’t expecting you until morning.” He grinned, striding toward him. “How have you been, vecchio?”
    Grayson swung toward him, the glow of the fire illuminating the edges of his greatcoat. He shoved his top hat beneath an arm, his disheveled dark blond hair falling onto his forehead. “I’ve been better. And I do beg your pardon, but I am not old.”
    Reaching beneath the back of his gray wool coat, Jonathan slid the blade into his scabbard. Still grinning, he struck out a bare hand. “’Tis damn good to see you.”
    “And you.” Grayson’s gloved hand grabbed his and gave it a solid shake before releasing it. He glanced around the small room. “If you insist on staying in this piss of a flat instead of taking residence with me, at the very least have the decency to bolt your door. This isn’t Venice.”
    Jonathan shrugged. “A roof is a roof and I have my blade. I’m only staying long enough to settle unfinished business. Speaking of unfinished business…” He grinned, glorying in the moment he thought would never come. “So. How is she? Does she know I’m here to see her? Have you told her? What did she say? Was she at all receptive? Livid? Thrilled? What? Tell me.”
    Grayson snorted. “You are prattling like an actress on gin.”
    Jonathan gritted his teeth and hit his shoulder. “Cease being an ass. Out with it. When do I get to see her?”
    “Uh…”
    “Tomorrow?”
    “No. Not tomorrow.”
    “The day after?”
    “Remington.”
    Jonathan lowered his chin. “No. I am not waiting to see her. Do you understand me? I have waited long enough. Five bloody years, to be exact.”
    Grayson cleared his throat, his brows coming together. “Believe me, Remington, I understand. But you see—”
    “No. None of that.” Jonathan pointed at him rigidly.