Free Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3) by Mia Marlowe

be all the more painful.
    “Don’t be modest, Miss Farnsworth. It doesn’t become you.” Lord Devonwood signaled for the footman to remove his soup, waved off the fish course, and accepted the meat instead. He speared a glistening bite of lamb with mint relish. “Your intended and I had a chance to become better acquainted in the library this afternoon, Ted, and I must agree with your assessment. Miss Farnsworth certainly astonished me.”
    He popped the meat into his mouth with a wicked grin.
    “My lord, you exaggerate.” Now the drunken faeries in her belly threatened to escape in a panicked rout. Would he actually expose her for a wanton between the lamb and the crème brûlée? “His lordship was kind enough to show me his library. I was quite taken with it.”
    “Quite taken,” he repeated as he skewered her with a look. Heat sizzled beneath the words.
    If she hadn’t stopped him when she did, he’d have been perfectly capable of taking her there on the venerable marble floor of the library with the ghosts of Sir Walter Scott, Dickens, and Shakespeare cheering them on.
    “Yes,” Lord Devonwood continued, “I was quite impressed with her taste . . .”
    Memory of the citrusy freshness of his mouth returned to taunt her. Emmaline stared at her empty plate. It seemed the only safe course, but silence hung suspended over the table like a strand of bubbles waiting to burst. She was forced to look down the long table at the earl.
    “. . . in literature,” he finally finished. “Ask her how she feels about Titus Andronicus sometime.”
    He would have to remind her how Shakespeare had slipped from between them moments before her knee connected with his nether parts. She jerked her gaze from him, sure her cheeks were giving her unmaidenly thoughts away with another infernal blush.
    Monty caught her eye and cocked a questioning brow, but Emmaline gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head. She ought to have warned Monty of this potential complication, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him she’d kissed the earl or worse, that she’d enjoyed it like a common strumpet.
    “Yes, indeed, Teddy,” the earl said. “Your Miss Farnsworth is absolutely astonishing.”
    “You see.” Theodore turned to her with a soppy grin on his face. “I told you my family would love you, too.”
    “What’s this business about the statue Miss Farnsworth mentioned, Theodore?” the countess asked, signaling an abrupt change of topic. “I’ve never known you to be interested in art, dear.”
    “Well, it’s not exactly art,” Theodore said. “It’s an artifact. It’ll revolutionize the study of the ancients and our understanding of them if we can only convince others of the import of the piece. I wonder if you’d mind showing it to my family, Dr. Farnsworth.”
    “Certainly, my boy.” Monty stood and bowed to the countess. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, milady.”
    Emma dabbed her lips with her napkin to hide her smile. They couldn’t have planned matters more neatly. She hoped Monty restrained himself from taking the stairs two at a time in his zeal to retrieve the statue and return quickly.
    A clever trickster could maneuver the conversation in a way that benefitted him, but patience was always best. The hook went in deeper and without causing alarm if the mark asked for more of his own volition.
    “Keep your seat, Farnsworth,” Lord Devonwood said. “We haven’t had dessert yet. We’ve only just begun to recover from our astonishment over your daughter. I’m not certain we can bear much more amazement. Surely whatever wonderment this statue represents will keep till we’ve digested our crème brûlée.”

C HAPTER 7
    D evon knew he was being churlish, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Emmaline Farnsworth turned the color of a ripe peach with guilt every time she glanced his way. Her bare shoulders and exquisitely displayed bosom in that cream-colored gown threatened his