Passions of a Wicked Earl Read Online Free

provided, so it was left to languish, while the family took up residence at the magnificent Grantwood Manor. It was there that he’d first caught sight of the girl who would one day become his wife.
    He couldn’t deny the pleasure he’d felt when he’d initially glimpsed her smile. His own mouth had twitched when he’d first heard her laugh. While she’d played with the others, he’d watched from afar, and he’d known,
known,
in his heart and soul that she could help him bring Lyons Place back to what it was meant to be. It could become again a place where a family would gather. It would no longer be shunned and forgotten.
    He
would no longer be shunned or forgotten. There were times when he felt like an outsider in his own family. Perhaps because he’d always fought to keep his distance, not to readily accept another man as his father, regardless of the other man’s goodness. The eighth Duke of Ainsley could not replace what Westcliffe had lost.
    He’d been convinced Claire could somehow fill the void. He’d taken such damned care in preparing himself for his wedding night, bathing again, shaving again, donning fresh trousers and a silk dressing gown. He’d planned to be gentle with her, to take such care. He’d had no intentions of rushing her.
    Then he’d walked into the bedchamber and seen his brother in his place, and once again he’d been struck with the realization of being worthy of nothing—not even his own wife would remain loyal to him.
    He became acutely aware of his hands aching. They were fisted so tightly—as to almost push bone through skin. He unfolded them as his carriage came to a halt. He belonged to several clubs, but Dodger’s Drawing Room was his favorite haunt. Its owner, Jack Dodger, had risen from the streets to become a powerful man. He understood a gentleman’s needs—although he had recently dispensed with his girls. Marriage no doubt was taming him.
    But no matter. There were brothels aplenty if a man was in need of a warm body. At the moment, Westcliffe simply needed to be away from his residence. He strode through the gambling room and went into the recently renovated tobacco room, where men enjoyed a cigar or pipe along with their liquor. He took a chair in a corner sitting area.
    At Dodger’s, customer preferences were memorized by liveried youths whom the owner had pulled from the streets and given employment. No one was left to wait for more than three minutes. Westcliffe didn’t even look up when his favorite brand of whiskey and a cigar were quietly set on the table beside him.
    He did look up when a gentleman sat in the chair next to his. He glared, but his brother paid him no heed.
    “Thought I’d see you here tonight,” Ainsley said. “So how did you find Claire?”
    Westcliffe arched a brow at him, and his brother merely shrugged. “She came to my residence earlier, thinking that you still lived there. She was quite surprised to discover that you had purchased a residence of your own. Do you not communicate with your wife?”
    “No.” Westcliffe reached for his glass, relished the slow burn as he swallowed the caramel-shaded smoky-flavored brew. He set the glass down, right side up, a signal that it was to be refilled. Promptly, it was.
    Ainsley grabbed his own drink and leaned forward. “Why is she here?”
    He’d always wanted to dislike Ainsley—simply on principle. He’d been born with everything: wealth, a powerful title, his mother’s love, and his father’s adoration. But he couldn’t help but admire him because he’d always been such an affable fellow, willing to help when needed, never keeping accounts on what was owed. Sometimes it irked knowing that his youngest brother was the best of them. “Apparently her sister has one Season in which to find a suitor, or their father will force her to marry Hester.”
    “What has the man got against his own daughter?”
    Westcliffe gave his brother a wry grin. “If you’re so appalled by the