Read To Tame a Scoundrel's Heart (A Waltz with a Rogue Novella Book 4) for Free Online Page A

For certain, she knew little of sailing. “Women aboard a vessel are notoriously bad luck, and I hardly think my duchess would relish jaunting about the oceans. It’s a rough life and not for the fainthearted, let alone a lady accustomed to life’s luxuries. Nay, better she stay ashore.”
    “Hmph, I should think a man and woman dedicated to one another wouldn’t want to be separated.” She sat straighter, disapproval turning her mouth downward.
    Had he riled her? “Aye, but I’m not wedding for love, but rather for convenience, which, you have to admit, doesn’t require devotion or constant company. Does that preclude you from aiding me?”
    “Oh, flim-flam, of course not. Don’t be a goose.” She flapped her hand, giving him an incredulous look that suggested he had more hair than wit.
    No other person had ever called him a goose. Several other choice words, yes, but never a goose. Miss Needham unquestionably topped his list of potential brides. That business about wanting to be with her spouse might present an issue, but he’d deal with that obstacle when the time came.
    “We’re having a dinner party, three nights hence. You must join us. Mama won’t object. In fact, she’ll be delighted to have such a prestigious guest, and your presence will balance our guest list. We’re one gentleman short. That is, we will be if the major arrives by then.” She tapped Nic’s forearm lightly before attending to her tumbled curls once more. “And naturally, you’ll attend the Wimpletons’ ball with us as well. I believe there’s a soirée and another dinner party before then too.”
    “The major?” One of her brothers? She had two older ones, if he recalled correctly.
    She stopped fussing with her gloriously shiny hair, and graced him with a beatific smile. “Yes. Major Richard Domont, my intended.”
     

Chapter Four
     
     
    Katrina stood and after shaking out her skirts, gathered her gloves and reticule. She had stayed longer than she’d planned, after all, but her reasons were most altruistic. On his own St. Monté—no, Nic suited him much better—would botch the business of finding a wife. He was a rather endearing oaf. “I must be on my way, but please do call when you return from London, and we can put our heads together and compile an acceptable list of qualifications for your duchess.”
    “Don’t forget the dance lessons or refresher on protocol and decorum,” Miss Sweeting said, almost too enthusiastically, before finishing her biscuit. She tossed Percival a crumb, which he pounced upon with portly enthusiasm.
    “I feel like a damned lad in shortpants again.” Nic didn’t appear half as agreeable as he had a moment before, no indeed. His tawny brows formed a harsh vee, and an assessing glimmer had replaced the jovial glint in his eye.
    Had Katrina said something to displease him?
    She wracked her brain.
    No. He’d asked for her help, and she’d willingly offered it, so why now did he act all starchy and offended?
    “Thank you for visiting, my dear. You know how much I look forward to your company.” Miss Sweeting angled her cheek for a kiss. “You’ll come again, on Thursday, as always?”
    “Of course. Mama should be recovered too. I know she’s been experimenting with a new scent, so prepare to receive a bottle or two of perfume if she cannot decide betwixt them.” As she bussed Miss Sweeting’s dry, crepey cheek, concern again inundated Katrina. Miss Sweeting wasn’t well. “Would you see me out, Your— Nic?”
    Terribly brazen to use his given name, but of all his forms of address, Nic fit him—the man, not the privateer, not the duke, not the brother, or bastard son—simply him .
    He extended his arm, the coat fabric worn a bit threadbare at the elbow. “It would be my utmost pleasure.”
    Katrina cut him an arch look.
    Goodness. She could almost believe he’d insinuated something more as she laid her bare hand upon his sinewy arm. Not an ounce of fat on him