Wed Him Before You Bed Him by Sabrina Jeffries Page B

the butler of the house saying he’d done so. Now he had nothing to bring her. And what was he to do with one ear bob?
    Blast, blast, blast.
    Meanwhile, in the offices of the Morning Tattler, Charles Godwin, a young reporter, was called into his editor’s office.
    â€œListen to this letter that just came in,” Bowmar said, brandishing a sheet of paper. It sat atop a pile of woeful-looking missives with running ink. Bowmar read aloud a few lines of a rather sharp litany of some poor fellow’s sins. “I want you to use it in one of those editorial pieces that you’re so good at, the ones about the evils of society. It’s juicy stuff.”
    Bowmar tossed it to him, and Charles read it. It was witty, in a flay-a-body-alive sort of way, but he would swear it had not been meant for the paper. “You can’t publish this. It’s clearly personal.”
    Bowmar flashed his usual smarmy smile. “It came with the rest of the mail. And there’s no return address.”
    Charles turned the sheet over to see nothing but blurred ink. He thought he could make out an M, but that was it. “It doesn’t matter. You still can’t print it in good conscience. It’s obviously private, and someone will come after you for libel.” He handed the letter back to Bowmar, pointing to one particular line. “Why, it even mentions that the man is a viscount’s son.”
    â€œIt hints at it, that’s all. Besides, there are any number of viscounts’ sons. And no one can come after the paper for libel unless what’s said in here is false. Even if they do, you simply point out that the letter begins with ‘Dear GarishGoer’ and is signed ‘Miss Monkey.’ No one could blame you for thinking it was meant for publication.”
    Bowmar’s blithe unconcern angered Charles. The two parties would surely recognize who was meant, even if no one else did. The letter was intensely private, clearly the result of a love affair gone terribly wrong. Somewhere a young lady’s heart was breaking because a scoundrel had misused her. It seemed wicked to profit from her misery.
    The fact that Bowmar didn’t care about that and expected him to do the dirty work roused his hot temper, something Charles was famous for. “Only a cad with no heart would print this letter.”
    Bowmar sat back and sneered. “Heart? A heart has no place in the newspaper business, sir. Material as juicy as this will sell papers by the hundreds.”
    â€œI won’t do it. It’s wrong.”
    Narrowing his eyes to slits, Bowmar said, “You’ll do as I say if you want to keep your position.”
    Since coming to work for Bowmar two years ago, Charles had suffered several moral dilemmas. He’d gritted his teeth and weathered every one without losing his job. But this one really stuck in his craw. And he’d had enough.
    â€œI don’t give a damn about my position, if this is what I have to do for it.” He turned toward the door. “I quit.”
    Charles walked out without a backward glance.

Chapter Seven
    F ive days after the Pages had left Berkshire for town, David rode toward home after his early morning gallop. Riding had been his salvation ever since Charlotte had left, though it didn’t keep his mind off her.
    A smile curved his lips. He was in love. No question about that. He could hardly sleep without thinking of her. And in only two days he would see her again in London. This time he would make her give him an answer. He might be young, and he might sometimes be a fool, but he was not going to let her get away.
    Of course, Father would be delighted. He sighed. He hated that he was playing right into Father’s hands, but it couldn’t be helped. If practicality and love just happened to coincide, well, who was he to question it?
    As soon as David entered the manor, the servant told him his father was calling for him most