Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3)
“Lord Northrop said, scowling into his cup of weak punch. “They may not have a brain among the lot of them, but this year’s crop of debutantes is blessed with an abundance of beauty. Take Devonwood’s sister there.”
“You’d better not,” Devon said darkly and sipped his punch.
There was only the slightest whiff of alcohol in the drinks. Lady Whitmore was a notorious teetotaler. Even the dash of spirits had probably been introduced to the punch without her knowledge. Given Northrop’s proclivity for excess, the tame punch was probably for the best. Devon and his two friends refilled their etched crystal cups.
Make that one of my friends, he amended in silence. Bernard Seyton, Lord Kingsley, was the third pillar of the unholy triumvirate known as the Fallen Angels from Oxford. So far, Kingsley hadn’t overstepped with Louisa so he was still technically in Devon’s good graces, but that could change in a heartbeat. Northrop’s appraising gaze swept over her again, dancing on Devon’s last nerve.
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