Free The Taming of the Rake by Kasey Michaels Page B

one’s lands and fortunes out of the hands of disliked relatives. Emotion had nothing to do with the thing.
    She knew this because she was a student of history. Ask Josephine if her Bonaparte had truly loved her, when he’d cast her off for a younger womb. The royals had it the worst, bartered away for the sake of a few acres of land or a military alliance, or simply because the prince or king had decreed it, and when those men tired of their wives, the chopping off of heads had many times been the accepted method of being rid of said wives.
    At least she would be spared that!
    She could only hope the man realized how grateful he should be to her for thinking of him and this particular revenge in the first place.
    But she very much doubted that he did.
    “Men can be so annoyingly obtuse,” she muttered, holding up a palm full of bubbles and blowing at them.
    “My lady? Was there something you wanted?”
    Chelsea smiled at the maid, who had been adding another log to the fireplace that was also situated in this lovely bathing chamber. “No, thank you, Prudence. I was only reminding myself that women are supremely superior to men in intellect and understanding. Haven’t you always found that to be true?”
    “If that means that my brother Henry is thick as a plank, then yes, my lady, that’s true. He once tried to milk a cow from behind, our Henry did, which is why he’s only got the two teeth and why we brought ourselves to London to find work when Mr. Beau offered, as far from cows as we could get. Poor Henry, they aren’t even his front teeth. I’ll leave you to your bath, my lady,” Prudence said and then curtsied and quit the room, hopefully never noticing that Chelsea’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed mirth.
    Maybe she was tired. Perhaps the strain of the day had been more than she’d realized. The argument with Thomas, the moments of horrible panic, the mad dash to Grosvenor Square. Convincing Oliver Le Beau Blackthorn that he was a lucky man, except, of course, if he dragged his heels enough that Thomas and his gaggle of brawny footmen and grooms showed up and strangledhim, at which point he would have been an unlucky and very dead man. Three hours on a horse, riding pell-mell away from London. Three more hours in the saddle, riding back again.
    No matter what the reason, Chelsea was suddenly giggling at the thought of poor Henry and his two teeth. Laughing. Chortling so hard she sniffed some bubbles up her nose and then laughing even more.
    “And here I assured Puck that you weren’t a fugitive from Bedlam. Or is it that the bubbles tickle? Interesting thought, that second possibility. Precisely where would they tickle?”
    Chelsea sucked in a breath midgiggle and turned her head to see Beau standing not five feet away from the tub. The quick action, when combined with the slipperiness of the tub bottom, caused her to slide helplessly beneath the surface of the water. Throwing up her arms and wildly grabbing for purchase on the rim of the tub, she resurfaced gasping, choking, blinking soap out of her eyes and caught between an urge to kill the man and a heartfelt desire to sink below the bubbles once more.
    “Monster! Take yourself off, Mr. Blackthorn. I’m in my bath.”
    “Actually, you’re in my bath,” Beau pointed out, which is when she noticed that he was clad in a burgundy banyan, his bare chest visible, along with his bare legs and feet.
    She’d seen Thomas dressed—or undressed—in much the same way a time or two, when he’d been convalescing from his bout with the mumps. Thomas had lookedsilly, all skinny white legs and paunch. Beau looked nothing like Thomas. His legs were tanned—she’d have to ask him how he’d managed that particular feat—and his calves bulged with muscle. There was a dusting of golden-blond hair on his chest, and his waist, marked by the tied sash, was remarkable in that fact that it was so small, his belly so very flat.
    She didn’t know if any of