Free The Lure of a Rake by Christi Caldwell Page A

no remorse for Montfort. Or really, anyone for that matter. He’d long ago ceased to care about anyone but himself. It was safer that way. …Everyone cares in some way… The lady’s words echoed around his mind.
    It was a sure one; Montfort would have won at any other time.
    “Well, then, which delicious widow has captured your attention?”
    He blinked and shifted his attention to the earl. “What?”
    “Nothing else would have you here but the promise of some inventive widow’s charms.” His friend laughed uproariously as though he’d uttered a hilarious jest.
    The orchestra concluded the country reel and the ballroom erupted into polite applause. “I hope she was worth the amount I lost on you.”
    He narrowed his eyes as the lady occupying Cedric’s attention caught his eye. “Who is the matron?” Cedric asked, gesturing vaguely to the woman between Montfort and his library nymph.
    The gentleman, who’d long known everyone and everything about Society, followed his stare. “The matron?” he puzzled his brow. “The Marchioness of Ellsworth.” Then he widened his eyes. “Ah, I see.”
    No, Cedric really didn’t think he did, as he didn’t see himself. Genevieve flared her eyes wide like a hare caught in the hunter’s snare and darted her gaze about. As one who’d made plenty of hasty escapes, he recognized one about to flee. “If you’ll excuse me,” he murmured and quickly stepped around Montfort. He ignored Montfort’s sputtering and lengthened his stride. With each step, Cedric kept his gaze trained on his tempting quarry.
    And for the first time in the course of his corrupt life, a fleshy, proper matron proved his savior. The plump, expensively attired lady in burgundy skirts stepped into Genevieve’s path, effectively staying her retreat.
    As the older woman spoke, Genevieve’s delicate shoulders went taut and she nodded periodically. He narrowed his eyes. Was his candid lady in the library a poor relation? His intrigue redoubled. She elongated her neck, drawing his gaze and remembrances to her erratic heartbeat a short while ago. She did a small search and then their stares connected once more. Panic flared in the lady’s eyes and she made another bid to escape. Cedric reached the trio.
    “Lady Ellsworth, a pleasure,” he said smoothly, not taking his gaze from Genevieve. The young woman gave him a faintly pleading look. As much as he particularly enjoyed his ladies pleading, this was not the kind he happened to favor. Mixed with that silent entreaty was an unspoken recrimination from within her eyes.
    The marchioness squeaked. “M-My lord.” She dropped a curtsy. “Wh-what an honor.” She tittered behind her hand. “Have you come to meet my Gillian?”
    He slid his gaze over to the breathtaking beauty with her purple skirts beside the woman. He expected this lovely lady was, in fact, her Gillian. With her beauty, she befit the usual beauties he took to his bed. However, another had earned his attention.
    “Mother,” Lady Gillian scolded, a blush on her cheeks.
    He looked expectantly at the marchioness. The rotund marchioness emitted a squeak. “F-forgive me. May I introduce my daughter, Lady Gillian Farendale?”
    Cedric made the appropriate greetings and looked expectantly to the pale Genevieve.
    The marchioness opened and closed her mouth several times, sputtering as she followed his attention.
    When no introduction was forthcoming, he lifted an eyebrow.
    “And this is my other d-daughter,” she choked out. “Lady Genevieve.”
    He lifted his eyebrows. The lady was a marchioness’ daughter? Attired in garments better suited a servant and on the fringe of the festivities, there was little hint of belonging to this family.
    Her mother forced an elbow into her side and Genevieve grunted. “My lord,” she said with a grudging hesitancy. She offered a belated and, by his way of thinking, insolent curtsy.
    Was the enticing pink of her neck and cheeks a product of