Read Online A Lot Like a Lady by Kim Bowman, Kay Springsteen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kim Bowman, Kay Springsteen
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niece,” Lady Harmony begged as Grey cradled Juliet. “I’m afraid she simply isn’t… herself just now.”
****
Not herself, indeed. Lady Harmony had a propensity for understating what should have been obvious to all of his guests. Grey ground his teeth as he stared at the remnants of the dinner party. The white linen tablecloth had been pulled askew, with china now perched perilously close to the edge where his stepsister had been seated. Two footmen rushed to right the place setting with jerky movements, but they faltered under Grey’s angry glare.
“That chit needs some lessons in manners, if you ask me,” Lucien announced with a tsking sound. “Why, even Lord Percy has been the picture of propriety tonight.”
“Really, now.” Lord Amory grunted. “Was that before or after he hit his grace in the face with a turnip and then ran off clutching a scrap of linen in his jaws?” The Earl of Fenimore’s wheezing laughter sent a slow burn along Grey’s neck.
With widened eyes, Lucien lifted the white linen tablecloth, bent to the side, and peered beneath the table. Moments later his head popped back up. “The devil you say! Lord Perceval, come back here this instant.” He leapt from his seat and half waddled his rotund form around the end of the table.
Grey cast a fierce look in his uncle’s direction, but the old fool never saw it. With a growl forming in the back of his throat, Grey turned and strode across the patterned red Turkish carpet with his surprisingly light burden.
As they crossed the drafty foyer, his stepsister shivered, reminding Grey that the girl hadn’t truly fainted but had simply followed his orders to swoon. At least she’d done something right. It had been the only way he could think of to end the ludicrous scene at the dinner table with any sort of grace. Blast his uncle and that wretched cur he insisted on treating like a royal heir. And blast the slip of a chit he held in his arms. He ought to drag her to the livery posthaste and put her on a coach bound for the country.
Grey’s ire at the situation rose a notch as he entered the drawing room. The golden glow of the fire broke through the chill of the evening air, and he dumped the young woman from his arms onto the Grecian couch without ceremony.
A maid entered behind him, lit the chandelier in the center of the room, and then discreetly slipped out.
Hands on his hips, Grey surveyed the chit who had shown up on his doorstep six days prior and done nothing but cut up his peace since her arrival. Her golden brown hair had fallen from the elaborate style she’d affected earlier and most of it formed a cloud around her head. In her pale yellow gown, she looked like some sort of garden flower, a bud yet to bloom into its true beauty, lying against the green velvet of his couch. He shifted his stance, acknowledging his thought as further proof that all was not as it had seemed.
“You may as well open your eyes,” he snapped. “We’re quite alone.”
One eyelid fluttered, then slowly opened, followed in quick order by the other. In the firelight, her tawny eyes gleamed the color of soft caramel. Would that her personality be as sweet as those eyes. Impatiently, Grey pushed the thought aside.
She kept her gaze on him as she slid her feet to the floor and slowly came to a demure sitting position with her hands in her lap. But no amount of decorum could hide the fire in her eyes.
“Would you care to explain yourself?” asked Grey.
“I-I-I’m s-sorry. It — it was the dog, you see...” She shrank back into the couch at his quelling glance.
“The dog? The dog addled your brain so you didn’t know how to behave properly at a meal?” Grey folded his arms across his chest lest he take her by the shoulders and shake her. “The dog stole away your taste for those despicable creamed turnips?”
A weak smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You don’t like them, either?”
“Don’t like them?” Grey sputtered
****
Not herself, indeed. Lady Harmony had a propensity for understating what should have been obvious to all of his guests. Grey ground his teeth as he stared at the remnants of the dinner party. The white linen tablecloth had been pulled askew, with china now perched perilously close to the edge where his stepsister had been seated. Two footmen rushed to right the place setting with jerky movements, but they faltered under Grey’s angry glare.
“That chit needs some lessons in manners, if you ask me,” Lucien announced with a tsking sound. “Why, even Lord Percy has been the picture of propriety tonight.”
“Really, now.” Lord Amory grunted. “Was that before or after he hit his grace in the face with a turnip and then ran off clutching a scrap of linen in his jaws?” The Earl of Fenimore’s wheezing laughter sent a slow burn along Grey’s neck.
With widened eyes, Lucien lifted the white linen tablecloth, bent to the side, and peered beneath the table. Moments later his head popped back up. “The devil you say! Lord Perceval, come back here this instant.” He leapt from his seat and half waddled his rotund form around the end of the table.
Grey cast a fierce look in his uncle’s direction, but the old fool never saw it. With a growl forming in the back of his throat, Grey turned and strode across the patterned red Turkish carpet with his surprisingly light burden.
As they crossed the drafty foyer, his stepsister shivered, reminding Grey that the girl hadn’t truly fainted but had simply followed his orders to swoon. At least she’d done something right. It had been the only way he could think of to end the ludicrous scene at the dinner table with any sort of grace. Blast his uncle and that wretched cur he insisted on treating like a royal heir. And blast the slip of a chit he held in his arms. He ought to drag her to the livery posthaste and put her on a coach bound for the country.
Grey’s ire at the situation rose a notch as he entered the drawing room. The golden glow of the fire broke through the chill of the evening air, and he dumped the young woman from his arms onto the Grecian couch without ceremony.
A maid entered behind him, lit the chandelier in the center of the room, and then discreetly slipped out.
Hands on his hips, Grey surveyed the chit who had shown up on his doorstep six days prior and done nothing but cut up his peace since her arrival. Her golden brown hair had fallen from the elaborate style she’d affected earlier and most of it formed a cloud around her head. In her pale yellow gown, she looked like some sort of garden flower, a bud yet to bloom into its true beauty, lying against the green velvet of his couch. He shifted his stance, acknowledging his thought as further proof that all was not as it had seemed.
“You may as well open your eyes,” he snapped. “We’re quite alone.”
One eyelid fluttered, then slowly opened, followed in quick order by the other. In the firelight, her tawny eyes gleamed the color of soft caramel. Would that her personality be as sweet as those eyes. Impatiently, Grey pushed the thought aside.
She kept her gaze on him as she slid her feet to the floor and slowly came to a demure sitting position with her hands in her lap. But no amount of decorum could hide the fire in her eyes.
“Would you care to explain yourself?” asked Grey.
“I-I-I’m s-sorry. It — it was the dog, you see...” She shrank back into the couch at his quelling glance.
“The dog? The dog addled your brain so you didn’t know how to behave properly at a meal?” Grey folded his arms across his chest lest he take her by the shoulders and shake her. “The dog stole away your taste for those despicable creamed turnips?”
A weak smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You don’t like them, either?”
“Don’t like them?” Grey sputtered
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