Read Online An Invitation to Seduction by Lorraine Heath - Free Book Online
Authors: Lorraine Heath
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feeling poorly, miss?”
“No, Nancy, I’m fine, thank you.” But she didn’t think her voice reflected her answer.
Nancy entered, carrying a silver tray. “Mr. Robbins instructed me to bring this up to you. You have a gentleman caller.”
“At this time of night?”
“It’s well into the day, miss. Long past noon.”
Startled by that revelation, Kitty slipped her fingers between the heavy draperies and sunlight sliced inside. “My goodness, I had no idea.”
She rose to her feet, unable to believe she’d sat there with her thoughts throughout the early hours of the morning and into the afternoon. Taking the card from the tray, she asked, “Will you please open the draperies?”
Almost blinding light spilled into the room, revealing the identity of her caller, written in elegant script: the Duke of Weddington. She considered refusing him, contemplated feigning illness. Instead she squared her shoulders.
“Will you please see if my mother is agreeable to having tea on the terrace and inform the duke that I’ll walk with him through the garden? Then please return to help me with my toilette.”
After Nancy left, Kitty collapsed on the bed. What could he possibly want? Had she not made her intentions and feelings toward Farthingham clear?
Part of her wanted to see the duke, and part of her dreaded the meeting. She didn’t know why she’d feel safer in the garden. Perhaps because under her mother’s watchful gaze, she knew she’d have more success at remaining a lady and keeping her wanton side under control.
All doubts that had surfaced within Richard’s mind regarding Kitty’s bloodlines evaporated the moment Madeline Robertson strolled into the parlor and introduced herself. Then she had invited him to join her on the terrace, an invitation that clearly indicated acceptance of the offer was preordained if he wished to meet with her daughter for even the shortest of time.
So he sat across from her, the small, round, lace-covered table between them decorated with a vase of freshly cut flowers and a tea service gilded in gold. He’d been greeted by a butler, they’d been served by a housemaid, the gardens were expertly kept. To a keen observer, which he prided himself on being, it was obvious that the Robertsons lacked for nothing. Yet neither did they exhibit the crass American habit of flaunting their wealth. Subtle and refined. They were comfortable with what they’d attained and sought to make others comfortable around them.
Little wonder Farthingham had been drawn to them—not only for their wealth, but for their elegant mien. He could so clearly see Kitty reflected in the manner in which Madeline Robertson held herself. Obviously Kitty had taken her poise and grace from her mother. Her smile. Her ability to make a man feel as though he held her complete attention, as though nothing would distract her from her purpose of pleasing him.
“I understand attending balls is quite unusual for you, Your Grace,” Madeline Robertson said.
“I must confess that I have made a point to avoid them in the past, Mrs. Robertson.”
“You gave many mothers hope that your presence last night indicated that you’d decided to take a wife.” She poured his tea. “Sugar?”
“Yes, please. Four and a half helpings.”
She arched her brows and smiled softly. “You possess a sweet tooth.”
“Several of them, in fact. I fear sweets are my weakness.” As was her daughter, although he suspected she might not appreciate hearing that bit of information. Some matters were best revealed later.
Handing him his cup of tea, she glanced toward the French doors. “Kitty should be down any moment. I can’t imagine what’s keeping her.”
It occurred to him that perhaps she had no wish to meet her caller—or perhaps she was taking the time to make herself particularly presentable. Having seen her at dawn and at midnight, he imagined that at any moment of any hour, she was beyond
“No, Nancy, I’m fine, thank you.” But she didn’t think her voice reflected her answer.
Nancy entered, carrying a silver tray. “Mr. Robbins instructed me to bring this up to you. You have a gentleman caller.”
“At this time of night?”
“It’s well into the day, miss. Long past noon.”
Startled by that revelation, Kitty slipped her fingers between the heavy draperies and sunlight sliced inside. “My goodness, I had no idea.”
She rose to her feet, unable to believe she’d sat there with her thoughts throughout the early hours of the morning and into the afternoon. Taking the card from the tray, she asked, “Will you please open the draperies?”
Almost blinding light spilled into the room, revealing the identity of her caller, written in elegant script: the Duke of Weddington. She considered refusing him, contemplated feigning illness. Instead she squared her shoulders.
“Will you please see if my mother is agreeable to having tea on the terrace and inform the duke that I’ll walk with him through the garden? Then please return to help me with my toilette.”
After Nancy left, Kitty collapsed on the bed. What could he possibly want? Had she not made her intentions and feelings toward Farthingham clear?
Part of her wanted to see the duke, and part of her dreaded the meeting. She didn’t know why she’d feel safer in the garden. Perhaps because under her mother’s watchful gaze, she knew she’d have more success at remaining a lady and keeping her wanton side under control.
All doubts that had surfaced within Richard’s mind regarding Kitty’s bloodlines evaporated the moment Madeline Robertson strolled into the parlor and introduced herself. Then she had invited him to join her on the terrace, an invitation that clearly indicated acceptance of the offer was preordained if he wished to meet with her daughter for even the shortest of time.
So he sat across from her, the small, round, lace-covered table between them decorated with a vase of freshly cut flowers and a tea service gilded in gold. He’d been greeted by a butler, they’d been served by a housemaid, the gardens were expertly kept. To a keen observer, which he prided himself on being, it was obvious that the Robertsons lacked for nothing. Yet neither did they exhibit the crass American habit of flaunting their wealth. Subtle and refined. They were comfortable with what they’d attained and sought to make others comfortable around them.
Little wonder Farthingham had been drawn to them—not only for their wealth, but for their elegant mien. He could so clearly see Kitty reflected in the manner in which Madeline Robertson held herself. Obviously Kitty had taken her poise and grace from her mother. Her smile. Her ability to make a man feel as though he held her complete attention, as though nothing would distract her from her purpose of pleasing him.
“I understand attending balls is quite unusual for you, Your Grace,” Madeline Robertson said.
“I must confess that I have made a point to avoid them in the past, Mrs. Robertson.”
“You gave many mothers hope that your presence last night indicated that you’d decided to take a wife.” She poured his tea. “Sugar?”
“Yes, please. Four and a half helpings.”
She arched her brows and smiled softly. “You possess a sweet tooth.”
“Several of them, in fact. I fear sweets are my weakness.” As was her daughter, although he suspected she might not appreciate hearing that bit of information. Some matters were best revealed later.
Handing him his cup of tea, she glanced toward the French doors. “Kitty should be down any moment. I can’t imagine what’s keeping her.”
It occurred to him that perhaps she had no wish to meet her caller—or perhaps she was taking the time to make herself particularly presentable. Having seen her at dawn and at midnight, he imagined that at any moment of any hour, she was beyond
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