Free A Game of Persuasion: Extended Prologue for the Art of Ruining a Rake (The Naughty Girls Book 3) by Emma Locke Page A

regard her profile. It was all she could do to keep from grinning at her marvelous innuendo. Was he shocked? Let him be! He’d shocked her enough times.
    A light sparked in his eyes, as if he’d seen her again. “And what would you know of coat-wearing?”
    She let her smile form on her lips. Just the barest, mind, only a hint of the naughtiness she felt for being so forward. “Very little, sadly.”
    Smoothly, he pivoted back to face the dancers gliding across the parquet floor. “As it should be. Coats are pesky things. Once a coat has been worn, the wearer is stuck with the memory of its fit. Years later, he pushes to the back of his wardrobe and sees the coat is still there. He remembers and is ashamed he ever wore it. I wouldn’t wish that on your brother, especially given how seldom a man like him updates his sense of fashion.”
    She drew up, quick to defend her friend Miss Gray. “What if Trestin would be satisfied with his coat, so long as he never wore it in public? Perhaps it is the ridicule of his friends, rather than anything lacking with the garment itself, that dampens his enthusiasm.”
    Roman swiveled slowly in her direction. Much to her surprise, his face was cold and dark. He wasn’t bantering on idle topics. This was a subject he cared deeply about.
    “You seem rather opinionated on the subject of your brother’s coat-wearing. Even I, with my dearth of sisters, recognize the unusualness of that.”
    He let the observation hang. Not specifically a question, though he clearly intended for her to respond.
    She bristled. She wouldn’t tell him Celeste was a personal acquaintance. He might tell Trestin, who might investigate. But it did annoy her that after years of her wishing Trestin would fall in love or, at the very least, take a mistress, Roman would actively try to dissuade his friend from either.
    “Look at him,” she said, pointing to her brother. “My first concern is to see him satisfied in life. Does he look happy to you?”
    To her surprise, Roman scowled. “He’s obviously lost his head if he’s allowing me to spend so much time with you.”
    That stopped her. “What do you mean?” It was all she could do to keep from sounding breathless.
    Roman drew his gaze back to hers, the black look still darkening his face. “Ashlin is well aware of my reputation. As carefully as he’s managed yours until recently, I’d say he’s distraught. Or did you not notice that the waltz has slipped into a country dance? We’ve whispered together for much longer than is proper. And yet, he doesn’t notice.”
    How she wished Roman presented as much danger to her as he made their situation sound! Instead, he looked daggers at Trestin again. His concern was for his friend, not her reputation. Not for what liberties he might take with her while Trestin was plagued by despondency.
    “Ho, there, Montborne. Keeping our Miss Lancester for yourself, are you?”
    Lucy turned to see the speaker. Two young bucks, each holding two cups of lemonade, did their best to look bored as they hovered at her elbow. The fair-haired one was Lord Kinsey. The other she didn’t recognize.
    The one she didn’t know grinned and held out a glass of lemonade for her to take. “You must be parched after listening to this windbag all night. Lord Felton to rescue you, my lady.”
    She ignored the proffered cup of lemonade in favor of looking at Roman. Surely he’d cut these pups to the ground for their presumptuous interruption.
    But Roman merely frowned over his shoulder, not bothering to look at the men, let alone warn them off. “Lord Felton, do you by chance know this dance?”
    The young man blinked and then bowed halfway, recovering. “I’m the fleetest foot in Shropshire, my lord.”
    Roman continued his assiduous study of Trestin. “Good. Take Miss Lancester for a turn. I’ve some business to attend.”
    Before she could protest, Roman handed her off and cut the company.
    She glared daggers at his retreating