Ruthless Read Online Free Page A

later on. At that moment he was doubting it.
    The child in the middle of the room was glaring at him, for child she was, no matter what her advanced years. She was a virgin, untouched, unkissed, innocent and angry, and he was prepared to enjoy himself immensely. “So tell me, little one. What really brought you here?”
    She clearly wanted to tell him to go to hell, but young ladies didn’t do that. She brought her fury in hand with a visible effort, yanked her pathetic cloak more tightly around her and squared her shoulders, obviously determined to be calm. “I’m looking for my mother,” she said again. “I realize you have trouble understanding plain English. Perhaps your dissipations have begun to affect your mind, in which caseyou have all my sympathies, but it’s my mother I’m concerned about. I believe she arrived here with Monsieur St. Philippe, and it really is imperative I get her home as quickly as possible. She’s not well.”
    â€œSt. Philippe?” he said. “I believe he had a female companion, but I paid little attention. Clearly you’re of an advanced age, which leads me to believe your mother must therefore be old enough to make her own decisions on such matters.” He snapped his fingers and a servant immediately materialized from the shadows. “Bring mademoiselle a chair. She looks weary.”
    â€œNo!” she said. “I have no interest in conversing with you, Monsieur le Comte. I simply need my mother.”
    â€œAnd I need to prove myself a proper host,” he returned.
    â€œYou’ve managed to overcome your more proper urges so far,” she said pointedly. “Why change now?”
    There was enough of a barb in her voice that he was amused. He rose, setting his glass of wine down. “A good point, mademoiselle…?”
    â€œYou don’t need my name.”
    â€œIf I don’t have it how am I to produce your mother?” His voice was eminently reasonable as he started down the short steps from the dais. She didn’t move—he had to grant her that. She was courageous enough to walk into the lion’s den and not shrink from his approach.
    She hesitated. “Harriman,” she said finally. “My name is Elinor Harriman. My mother is Lady Caroline Harriman.”
    He froze. “Holy Christ. That poxy old bitch is here?Don’t worry, my precious. We shall find her immediately. I have no intention of allowing her to stay among my guests. I am astonished St. Philippe had the temerity to bring her with him. Unless it was simply to gain my attention.”
    â€œWhy would he do that?” the young girl asked, bewildered. He usually found innocence to be tedious. Mademoiselle Elinor Harriman’s innocence was oddly appealing.
    â€œBecause he has a tendre for me, and I’ve shown no interest.”
    â€œHe has a tendre for you? He’s a man.”
    â€œHe is indeed,” he said gently. “And how have you lived in Paris for so long without knowing about such things?”
    â€œHow do you know how long I’ve lived in Paris?” she retorted.
    â€œLady Caroline Harriman left her doltish husband and came to Paris with her two daughters some ten years ago, and she’s been in steady decline ever since. I’m surprised she’s still alive.”
    â€œJust barely,” the girl said grimly. “Could I please go look for her instead of standing here talking to you? She’s probably gaming, and I’d like to stop her before the last of our household money is gone.”
    â€œA laudable notion, child. I’d like to stop her before she spreads the plague amongst my guests. I’m quite adamant about the health of the whores…”
    â€œMy mother is not a whore!”
    There was a charming flush to her pale cheeks. She was too thin—she hadn’t been fed properly in thelast few months, and he allowed himself the briefest fantasy of