Read Taming an Impossible Rogue for Free Online Page A

seems to have developed a need to protect the ladies in her employ, I won’t sit back and let you work your mischief with Camille.”
    “She knows who I am.”
    “Everybody knows you’re Bloody Blackwood.”
    Only six years of practice kept him from reacting to the name. “She knows I’m Fenton’s cousin. I told her.” He sat forward a little, noting that Haybury shifted the same distance back in response. It wasn’t fear, but caution; in the past he hadn’t been a brawler, but that had certainly changed. And if anyone knew of his recent proclivity to provoke fights, it would be the marquis. “What put you off Adam, by the way?” he asked, settling for a verbal jab. “You and Greaves used to be fast friends.”
    “This is my interrogation; not yours. And since you apparently saw the need to approach Camille, I’d like to know why. Other than to announce your relationship to her former fiancé, of course.”
    Keating forced a short laugh. “When did you become the purveyor of propriety, Oliver? I told you; she’s pretty, and she dislikes Fenton.” And like him, she’d made a mistake that had ruined her life. But he meant to keep any feelings of kinship to himself. Feelings rarely led him in the right direction. “I thought it would be unfair of me to surprise her with my cousin’s identity.”
    “So you’re commiserating.”
    “Yes. We’re commiserating. And she invited me in.” He glanced down for a moment. “She also clubbed me in the head with a book, if that makes you more inclined to allow me about.”
    The marquis’s jaw twitched. After a moment, he nodded. “Camille,” he said over his shoulder, “enjoy your luncheon. If Mr. Blackwood gives you any trouble, please inform me.”
    The hostess curtsied. “Yes, my lord.”
    Once Haybury left the room, the buzz of conversation resumed. Clearly not everyone who worked at The Tantalus Club was as ignorant of his past as Lady Camille had been. He detested being referred to as “Bloody Blackwood,” though at the same time the moniker was likely fairly apt. It was still an idiotic poem.
    Camille returned to sit opposite him. “Do you mean to make trouble for me?” she asked, meeting his gaze.
    “I do not.” Rolling his stiff shoulders, Keating took another bite of sandwich. “As you may have noticed, however,” he continued, keeping his voice cool and even, “I am frequently glared at and whispered about. Does that trouble you?”
    After a long moment she lowered her head. “I thought I might be able to learn a lesson or two from you about keeping my spine stiff even with all the glaring. But perhaps this is a poor idea, after all.”
    Damnation . “More attention on me means less attention directed at you, does it not?”
    “Or it could mean twice the attention I would warrant on my own.”
    He leaned forward on his elbows. “Go walking with me tomorrow. It’s the only way to know for certain.”
    Her guarded expression deepened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
    “Cammy almost never leaves the property,” one of the ladies at the far end of the table offered. “Are you truly Bloody Blackwood?”
    Keating began to consider that he might have been better off turning down his cousin’s request and remaining at home. “Yes, I am,” he said, sending the loudmouthed chit a glance that had her looking elsewhere.
    Returning his attention to the young lady still seated opposite him, he swiftly reassessed the conversation. He knew he could be charming; what he hadn’t anticipated was that she would be skittish as a colt after her first snowfall. “We needn’t go tomorrow,” he revised, inwardly cursing himself. “Or if you’re worried over my intentions, bring some of your friends with you. I only thought a stroll would be pleasant.”
    “It used to be,” she said in a voice so low he almost didn’t hear it. Lady Camille visibly shook herself. “I’m quite busy, but I shall inform you if I change my mind.”
    He