Read Online A Night Like This by Julia Quinn - Free Book Online Page A

if you yell like that again. Now, get going, the three of you, and carry on with your work. I’m going to sit down.”
    “As am I,” Lord Winstead said jauntily. “But I shal be with you three in spirit.”
    The girls went back to their counting, and Anne strode over to the bench. Lord Winstead was right behind her, and as they sat she said, “I can’t believe they believed that nonsense about your eye.”
    “Oh, they didn’t believe it,” he said nonchalantly. “I told them earlier I’d give them a pound each if they endeavored to give us a few moments alone.”
    “What?” Anne screeched.
    He doubled over laughing. “Of course I didn’t. Good heavens, do you think me a complete dunce? No, don’t answer that.” She shook her head, annoyed with herself for having been such an easy mark. still, she couldn’t be angry; his laughter was far too good-natured.
    “I’m surprised no one has come over to greet you,” she said. The park was not any more crowded than usual for this time of day, but they were hardly the only people out for a stroll. Anne knew that Lord Winstead had been an extremely popular gentleman when he’d lived in London; it was hard to believe that no one had noticed his presence in Hyde Park.
    “I don’t think it was common knowledge that I planned to return,” he said. “People see what they expect to see, and no one in the park expects to see me.” He gave her a rueful half grin and glanced up and to the left, as if motioning to his swolen eye. “Especialy not in this condition.”
    “And not with me,” she added.
    “Who are you, I wonder?”
    She turned, sharply.
    “That’s quite a reaction for so basic a question,” he murmured.
    “I am Anne Wynter,” she said evenly. “Governess to your cousins.”
    “Anne,” he said softly, and she realized he was savoring her name like a prize. He tilted his head to the side. “Is it Wynter with an i or a y ?”
    “ Y . Why?” And then she couldn’t help but chuckle at what she’d just said.
    “No reason,” he replied. “Just my natural curiosity.” He was silent for a bit longer, then said, “It doesn’t suit you.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Your name. Wynter. It does not suit you. Even with the y .”
    “We are rarely given the choice of our names,” she pointed out.
    “True, but still, I have often found it interesting how well some of us are suited to them.” She could not hide an impish smile. “What, then, does it mean to be a Smythe-Smith?”
    He sighed, with perhaps too much drama. “I suppose we were doomed to perform the same musicale over and over and over . . .” He looked so despondent she had to laugh. “Whatever do you mean by that?”
    “It’s a bit repetitive, don’t you think?”
    “Smythe-Smith? I think there is something rather friendly about it.”
    “Hardly. One would think if a Smythe married a Smith, they might be able to settle their differences and pick a name rather than saddling the rest of us with both.” Anne chuckled. “How long ago was the name hyphenated?”
    “Several hundred years.” He turned, and for a moment she forgot his scrapes and his bruises. She saw only him, watching her as if she were the only woman in the world.
    She coughed, using it to mask her tiny motion away from him on the bench. He was dangerous, this man. Even when they were sitting in a public park, talking about nothing of great importance, she felt him.
    Something within her had been awakened, and she desperately needed to shut it back away.
    “I’ve heard conflicting stories,” he said, seemingly oblivious to her turmoil. “The Smythes had the money and the Smiths had the position. Or the romantic version: The Smythes had the money and the position but the Smiths had the beautiful daughter.”
    “With hair of spun gold and eyes of cerulean blue? It sounds rather like an Arthurian legend.”
    “Hardly. The beautiful daughter turned out to be a shrew.” He tilted his head to her with a dry