Free Duke of Scandal (Moonlight Square, Book 1) by Gaelen Foley Page A

no interest in the creature.”
    “I see. And has any inspiration struck yet on what you might do with it in the interests of expanding this freedom your aunt intended you to enjoy?”
    “Not yet. But I’m pondering the possibilities,” she said shrewdly.
    As am I, Jason mused rather wickedly. Charmed by the sparkle in her eyes, he watched her take her wineglass from the footman, who had returned with the drinks he had requested.
    Jason lifted the lemonade off the tray and offered it to Mrs. Brown with a penitent smile, but though she accepted it with a terse “Thank you,” she still eyed him with as much disapproval as any other matron in the room.
    Ah, well.
    “Cheers,” he said to Felicity as she lifted the wineglass to her rosy mouth.
    Those lips…
    “Cheers, Your Grace. To old friends,” she added meaningfully, and tapped her glass to his, holding his gaze as they each took a sip.
    Her lips glistened, damp from the wine, and Jason flinched, forcing himself to look away. “Come,” he said, trying to emulate a breezy manner, “I saved you a seat. Best in the house.”
    “You did? That was very thoughtful.”
    “Unfortunately, I do not think it would be wise for me to sit with you, however.” He looked askance at her.
    “Ah, I understand.” The grateful look she gave him said she was well aware that scandal tended to follow him. Though, honestly, it was never his intention.
    He showed her to the seats he had reserved for her and Mrs. Brown in the front row. His gloves were on one chair and his hat on the other. He had chosen for himself one of the chairs on the side, where the U-shaped row curved around opposite the pianoforte. The players would be in profile from his vantage point and the sound would’ve been better in the middle, but what mattered to him was that he would have an unfettered view of Felicity.
    Which was all he had really wanted.
    Taking leave of the ladies, he went and sat down.
    He quickly found that Azrael Chambers, the Duke of Rivenwood, had ended up beside him.
    They were both members at the Grand Albion, which, in addition to the exclusive gentlemen’s club on the ground level, contained the famed Assembly Rooms on the piano nobile , as well as a few luxurious hotel suites on the top floor.
    Though Rivenwood was not really a member of his set, they got on well enough and occasionally played cards. Still, Jason had to admit the highborn loner was endlessly mysterious. He seemed a haunted man, and struck Jason as, well, just a little damned strange.
    At first, Jason had assumed they’d had the same idea—to watch the ladies rather than the concert—but then it occurred to him that, with Rivenwood, you just never knew what was going through that head of his. Rivenwood, the enigma, had a tendency to watch everyone and everything, but mostly kept his conclusions to himself.
    Of course, he was pleasant enough, and rich as Croesus, but as for reputation, where Jason was called scandalous , Rivenwood was viewed as rather eerie. The rumors that surrounded his family were considerably darker than the merely adulterous tales of Jason’s own. Word had it he had seen his father murdered as a boy, but nobody in memory dared speak to him about it.
    Rivenwood even looked mysterious, with his long, straight hair as pale as moonlight pulled back into a smooth queue. He was a tall, elegant man in his early thirties, with high cheekbones and strong, symmetrical features, but his intense eyes were the ice blue of a glacier.
    What sort of father names his child Azrael, anyway? Jason wondered as he nodded to his acquaintance and took his seat. To be sure, the odd name fit.
    Apparently, the previous Duke of Rivenwood had had some fixation with the occult secrets of antiquity and had thought it a fine idea to name his son after the archangel of death.
    Poor beggar. And I thought my childhood was bad.
    “Netherford,” his fellow duke said as Jason joined him.
    “Rivenwood.” Jason flipped the tails