Ruthless Read Online Free Page B

feeding her tidbits of meat and pastries while she lay naked across his bed.
    His mocking smile was half meant for his own foolishness. Virgins were far too tedious, and even the fiery Mademoiselle Harriman would be more trouble than she was worth.
    â€œAny woman in this house is a whore, my child. So, for that matter, are the men. Let me get you a glass of wine and we can discuss this.”
    â€œYou are as addled as my mother,” she snapped, spinning on her heel. “I’m going to look for her.”
    He wasn’t in the habit of letting any woman turn her back on him, and he simply took her arm, ungently, and spun her around to face him, fury on her face and a nasty little pistol in her hand, pointed in the general direction of his stomach.
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    She would shoot him, without a qualm, Elinor told herself, willing her hand not to shake. If he saw her quaking he would assume she was harmless, and then she might be forced to actually fire the wretched gun. Which she most assuredly did not want to do, unless she had to.
    He released her, encouraging her hope that he was a reasonable man, but he didn’t take a step back, and he seemed more amused than alarmed.
    The King of Hell was everything they said he was, both less and more. He was reputed to have the ability to seduce an abbess or the pope himself, and she could see why. It wasn’t his physical beauty, which was considerable. He had dark blue eyes behind a fringe of ridiculously long lashes, pale, beautiful skin, the kind of mouth that could bring despair and delight—and what the hell was she doing, thinking about such things?
    He looked younger than his reputed age, around forty, and while his long dark hair was streaked with silver it only made him seem more leonine, more dangerous. He was tall, and he moved with an elegant grace that put dancers to shame. He was standing far too close to her, to the gun she’d stolen from Jacobs while he was busy with the carriage, and he was looking at her with far too much interest and absolutely no fear.
    â€œYou aren’t going to shoot me, my dear,” he said calmly, making no effort to take the gun from her shaking hand. And it was shaking—she couldn’t disguise it.
    â€œI don’t wish to. But my mother’s safety is paramount…”
    â€œYour mother is a walking dead woman,” he said, his voice casual and cruel. “You know it as well as I. Why don’t you return home and I’ll find her and send her after you?”
    â€œYou don’t understand. I can’t afford to let her game away the rest of our money,” she repeated. It shamed her to admit how little they had, but then, most of his guests would be capable of losing a fortune on the turn of a card. There was no need for him to guess just how little they had left.
    â€œThen we shall see that she doesn’t,” he said in thatcaressing voice of his. It was little wonder people fell at his feet—his voice could charm angels. “You know you don’t want to shoot me. Think of the mess. Not to mention the explanations.” He reached out and gently took the pistol away from her. “Very pretty,” he said, glancing at the elegant pearl-handled thing. “If you’re so hard up for money you could always sell this.”
    â€œWho says we’re hard up for money?” she demanded.
    â€œYour clothes, child. You dress like a ragpicker. What’s your mother wearing—sackcloth and ashes?”
    â€œShe’d hardly be allowed in here if she was.”
    â€œOh, on the contrary. Sackcloth and ashes could be deemed quite appropriate. After all, this is a gathering of the Heavenly Host, you know.”
    She tried not to react to the shock of him actually mentioning the forbidden words. Everyone had heard rumors of the Heavenly Host, that covert gathering of wicked aristocrats with too much time on their hands. The stories went from the ridiculous to the