Read The Dangers Of Deceiving A Viscount for Free Online

her. “Forgive me, Madame Dupree, but if wild stallions and dancing Gypsies do not frighten you, what does, if I may ask?”
    Wild, untamed men. Men who exude virility and strength.
    When she didn’t answer directly, he lifted his gaze to hers. “Do I frighten you?”
    Phoebe felt in danger of falling into those eyes, of becoming completely lost in them. She could imagine that women all over England melted inside when he merely looked at them. “You? No!” she said with a smile that hid her melting. “Oh no! Not in the least…” She paused and peered at him. “Unless…I should be frightened of you?”
    One corner of his mouth tipped up in a wolfishly lazy smile. “I suppose that depends on what a beautiful young woman such as you might find frightening in a man.”
    God help her, he was flirting with her. She felt a silly flutter in her belly and her chest, felt her palms grow damp.
    He seemed to sense what his smile did to her, for his smile deepened, his lips dark against his golden skin. “You remind me of my sisters,” he said casually. “I think nothing frightens them, either—with the notable exception of thieving Gypsies, naturally.” His gaze flicked over the length of her. “Perhaps you should be about the business of clothing them. Do you know the way back to the house?”
    “I—Yes,” she said, nodding. “Yes, of course.”
    “Very good.” He smiled, touched his hand to his forehead, and she caught sight of that curious curving black line on his wrist. He strode away from her, taking the path the horses had taken, his gait strong and long and sure.
    Phoebe watched him, holding her shawl tightly about her and memorizing the swing of his arms and the cadence of his gait. When he had disappeared, she sighed with girlish longing.
    “Oh dear, Madame Dupree,” she muttered to herself, and reluctantly turned back toward the house.
    A few hours later, Will met his childhood friend, Henry Ellison, in Greenhill. When Will had returned from abroad, he’d felt almost like a visitor in a foreign land—nothing was as he remembered it, and what he did remember fit him ill, like a poorly tailored coat. But Henry had sought him out, had been genuinely glad to see him after all those years. Henry had grown an inch or two, and what once had been a thick head of brown hair was now thinning. But his blue eyes and effervescent smile were very much the same, and he had insisted on helping Will reacquaint himself with the English gentry. He was Will’s one true friend.
    Henry was in high spirits when they met at the public house for a pint of ale. He’d returned just days ago from London, where he’d been spending quite a lot of time as of late. There was a woman there who had captured his fancy completely and he seemed only slightly bothered that she was a married woman. But then Henry had never been particularly discriminating about women, and frankly, neither had Will.
    When Will handed two shillings to the serving girl, Henry squinted at the tattoo that peeked out from the cuff of his shirt. “Been showing that around, have you?” he asked before sipping from his tankard.
    “What?” Will asked, glancing at his hand. “This?” He pointed to the tattoo.
    “Yes, that. You’ve managed to scandalize my dear mother with it.”
    “How so?” Will asked, since he’d not seen Henry’s mother since the last time he attended church services—a month or more ago, to be exact.
    Henry leaned across the table. “Lord Summerfield, haven’t you the slightest sense that the entire county is talking about your tattoo?” he whispered loudly. “Apparently, you rolled up a sleeve to help a poor man in need of wheel repair on his wagon, and now everyone is quite titillated by the little bit of that serpent that peeks out from your sleeve.”
    Will shoved his sleeve up a bit and looked at the symbol. The night he’d done it, he’d been a guest in the palace of an Indian prince. His hair had been so long he’d