Free The Trouble with Honor by Julia London

bursting with hope,” Honor said. A movement caught Honor’s eye; she sat up and turned toward the door. Her mother was standing in the opening, staring into the room.
    “Mamma?” Honor said, coming to her feet. “Is something wrong?”
    Lady Beckington frowned slightly.
    “Mamma,” Honor said again, moving to her mother’s side. “Did you mean to see to the earl?”
    “Oh, Honor,” her mother said, her relief clearly evident. “You’re home! Yes, the earl is unwell. I should see to him,” she said, and squeezed Honor’s hand affectionately as she turned and hurried down the hall to the earl’s rooms.
    Honor looked back at Grace. “I don’t understand it. Not a quarter of an hour ago she was perfectly all right.”
    “We should have Dr. Cardigan come,” Grace suggested.
    “And risk the ton knowing before the earl is even gone? Dr. Cardigan sees every old biddy in Mayfair! We can’t, Grace. Not until we absolutely must.”
    It was heartbreaking to watch a beloved mother slide ever so softly into senility. Joan Devereaux, so charmingly clever—Honor could not think of a single person who had a poor opinion of her. She’d been amazingly resourceful, too—she’d known how to navigate a ballroom better than anyone, and had managed to keep her daughters well after her husband had died. Honor had been only eleven years old, but she could recall her mother taking two old gowns to a friend, and together, they’d created a stunning ball gown. Her mother had donned it and gone off to a grand ball and the next morning had gathered her four daughters in her bed and told them about the Earl of Beckington.
    It was necessity that had driven her mother to seek the earl’s attentions, but Honor truly believed that her mother had come to care very much for the older earl. Certainly no one in Mayfair would blame Lady Beckington if she left the earl’s care to a nurse, but she’d refused to do so. She saw to him every day.
    The sound of the earl’s racking coughs reached them again. “I’ll go and help her,” Grace said, and stood from the chaise to go. At the door, however, she glanced back at her sister. “Do have a care, Honor. You are playing a very dangerous game.”
    “I will,” Honor promised.
    Later, Honor would recall that moment with Grace and her easy promise. She hadn’t believed George Easton would really come to Beckington House.
    But he did.

CHAPTER SIX
    I T TOOK QUITE a lot to astonish George, but Honor Cabot had done just that. From her bold invitation to meet, to her ridiculous, preposterous, cake-headed suggestion, George could not have been more astonished than if the king were to recognize him as his legitimate nephew.
    Yesterday, he’d left Berkeley Square stewing in his own juices, aroused as he always was by prettiness, and as disgusted with Miss Cabot as he was with himself for somehow softening to her charm again. He couldn’t fathom what it was about this debutante that could so keenly capture him with a smile, but he’d been determined to never see her again. She was trouble. In fact, he’d even been of half a mind to ride directly to Beckington House and explain to the dimwitted Sommerfield exactly what his stepsister was about. She deserved no less.
    But George hadn’t gone to Beckington House. He’d gone home, riding hard from a pair of dark-lashed blue eyes shimmering in his mind’s eye.
    Bloody, bloody hell .
    Still, he thought that after a good night’s sleep, that would be the end of it, that he’d not give as much as a passing thought to the young woman again. He’d gone out last night as was his custom, had dined with several gentlemen at the Coventry House Club. But he’d had no interest in cards or prattling, and had returned home before midnight.
    Finnegan had not said a word when George had stalked into his house far earlier than was his custom. He’d merely arched one dark brow high above the other as he’d taken George’s hat. “Don’t look so