The Devil in Disguise by Stefanie Sloane

The Devil in Disguise by Stefanie Sloane

Author:Stefanie Sloane
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Random House Agency
Published: 2011-05-23T22:00:00+00:00


It hadn’t been the best of days, Will reflected grimly, wincing as he shifted beneath the sheets on the massive ducal bed.

After being stitched and dosed with brandy, Weston had accompanied him home and dragged him to his bedchamber, aided by Smithers. The brandy had made the wound more bearable, but it had done its work on his wits as well. His dissection of the evening’s events with Carmichael would have to wait.

He’d woken with a pounding headache and enough bandages wrapped about his chest and back to rival those of an Egyptian mummy. Those at least he could hide, even if the wound hurt like the very devil.

The problem was his face. His right eye was ringed in black bruises and swollen half-shut. And his jaw didn’t look much better.

He wouldn’t have been averse to using the box of stage paints packed away in the armoire across the room. He’d made use of the charcoal and pots of paint a time or two in Corinthian dealings. But on those occasions, he’d had the cover of night to help conceal what would surely be detected in the brightness of day.

And the wounds were far too fresh to offer any believable explanation for their appearance. If he could avoid Lucinda for a day or two more, he could pass it off as a boxing injury. But any sooner and she’d never believe him.

Much as he disliked it, there seemed no other option than to remain in his room until he looked a little less battered.

“I’m assuming from the looks of things that the lion won?”

Will sat up, wincing when the movement pulled the stitches and stretched the wound on his back. Gingerly turning his head, he saw his brother standing in the open doorway, one shoulder propped against the door-jamb.

“Hardly.” Will fingered his jaw and winced. “Though he did land a few good blows.”

Michael strolled into the room and walked to the glowing fireplace, taking stock of the pewter candlesticks poised at each end of the stone slab mantel before dropping into a leather armchair facing the bed. “Is this the business that so desperately needed your attention?”

“And if it is?” Will countered. He threw back the sheet and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, grunting at the protest of torn skin and muscle. His head swam and he sat without moving, fighting the sensation.

Michael stretched out his legs, crossed his booted feet, and propped his elbows on the arms of the chair. He templed his fingers just below his chin and contemplated Will. “Far be it for me to advise you in the ways of women, but …”

“But?” Will pushed, the slightest hint of irritation present in his voice.

“I don’t think Lady Lucinda would take it well if she knew you’d returned to your old ways.”

“Bloody hell,” Will bit out, standing too quickly. His body clenched with pain and his vision danced with tiny black motes. He steadied himself with one hand on the bedpost and waited for the burning sensation on his back to subside.



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