Mad About the Earl Read Online Free Page B

fingertips over his arm. The muscles there tensed, granite hard, unyielding beneath her hand.
    “Shall we go to your grandfather now?” she said in a soft, gentle voice.
    His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. The scar that slashed his temple glowed white. Then he shook his head in disbelief. “This is madness,” he muttered.
    Without waiting for her answer, he turned on his heel and strode away.

 
     
    CHAPTER THREE
     
    LONDON, WINTER 1815
THREE YEARS LATER …
     
    The rap of the chairman’s gavel called the meeting to order. The Duke of Montford lifted his gaze from the agenda he’d been perusing and turned his attention to the collection of aristocrats assembled around the vast, polished mahogany table.
    The winter meeting of the Ministry of Marriage was in session.
    Inwardly, Montford sighed. These gatherings seemed to come closer and closer together as the years wore on.
    There was Lady Arden, with that sparkle in her eye that always spelled trouble for someone—usually for him. Oliver, Lord deVere, appeared to labor under some sort of frustrated fury. But then, didn’t he always?
    DeVere slid a glance at Montford, then looked away, scratching his whiskered face. Like his warrior forebears, deVere was big, fierce, and dark. A remarkably hirsute man, he needed to shave twice daily to avoid looking like a ruffian. He seldom shaved more than once, however.
    The chairman cleared his throat. “We have a lot to get through this afternoon.” He glanced at the agenda in his hand. “The first item concerns the betrothal of Lady Rosamund Westruther to Griffin deVere, Earl of Tregarth.”
    The elderly Lord Ponsonby started from his customary abstraction. In his thread of a voice, he said, “ Eh? What’s that you say? Never tell me the old earl is dead? Well, well,” he added placidly, “I make no doubt he is burning in Hell.”
    Unable to resist, Montford met Lady Arden’s gaze. Her eyes danced with suppressed mirth.
    Montford responded, “The fourth earl has been dead for more than a year, Lord Ponsonby. As to his current whereabouts, I would not venture to guess.”
    “Your Grace,” said Lady Arden in her clear, cool voice, “are we to believe that this engagement between Griffin, Lord Tregarth, and Lady Rosamund Westruther still stands? Lady Rosamund has been out these two years and might have expected to be a married lady by now. If Lord Tregarth cannot see his way clear to tying the knot, then I propose we—”
    “He will tie the knot, damn you!” Lord deVere leaned forward, shooting a furious glare at her from beneath bushy brows.
    DeVere didn’t heed the shocked gasps from the ladies, or the chairman’s admonishment to mind his language. With a pugnacious thrust of his chin, he added, “The wedding date is set.” He smacked the table with his fist as if it were a gavel. “Next item.”
    Unabashed by deVere’s bullishness, Lady Arden turned her wide brown eyes on Montford. “Is that true, Your Grace?”
    Montford’s gaze locked with deVere’s in a silent communication. DeVere’s expression was fierce, but was there also a hint of a plea in those black eyes? Not that a plea from deVere would move Montford to help him. The duke had his own reasons for wishing the alliance to go ahead without further interference from either Arden or the Ministry itself.
    “That’s right,” Montford said coolly. He did not say precisely which date had been set and trusted no one would ask.
    Now all they needed was for the parties to the match to agree.
    Musing further on this subject, Montford took little interest in the proceedings until they came to another item on the agenda that touched Rosamund, if only tangentially.
    The marriage of Griffin’s sister, Lady Jacqueline deVere.
    The Countess of Warrington spoke up. “ That affair is well in hand, I assure you. Since Lady Jacqueline came to live with us in Bath, she and my son have formed an attachment. I expect an announcement at any