Read Online Anything but a Gentleman by Amanda Grange - Free Book Online
Authors: Amanda Grange
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that, too angry to be fair. ‘Mr Windham is a guest at this ball and I would not dream of insulting him, or the Cosgroves either, by refusing to make a little polite conversation.’
‘Polite conversation?’ he asked. ‘Was that all it was?’ His eyes were darker now that he was angry, she noticed. In fact, his whole body had changed. It seemed to have grown, and his presence filled the room. ‘Tell me,’ he demanded, ‘what was your conversation about?’
For one moment she nearly told him. So strong was his presence, and so unsettled was she by Mr Windham’s pointed questions, that she longed to talk to him about it – though why she should think of talking to Lord Ravensford, when Mr Cosgrove was older and wiser, and an old family friend into the bargain, she did not know. But she was angry with Lord Ravensford for thinking he could order her life, and the moment passed.
‘Your manners haven’t improved,’ she told him, angered by his high-handed attitude. ‘I will talk to whoever I choose.’
‘Marianne.’ He used her name again, and crossing over to her in one stride he gripped her by the arms, looking intently down into her eyes. ‘This is too important a matter to trifle with. I want to know what he said.’
His eyes bored down into her. He was so close to her that she was made forcefully aware of everything about him: his angular cheekbones, golden eyes and exciting lips. Her own parted in unknowing invitation and she gazed up at him. She had never felt like this before. She had never lost control of herself. But now she seemed to be melting. The Miss Travis who ran her family’s estate and who spent her life on her duties seemed to be liquefying, dropping away, until all that was left at the centre was Marianne. Marianne, who wanted to forget her duties and be free again; Marianne who, innocent though she was, knew there was a world beyond the one she had already experienced and wanted Lord Ravensford to take her there, leading her by the hand. No one had ever made her feel as he made her feel. Not once in her three London seasons had she met a man who made her pulses race, or even made them stir. But Lord Ravensford, newly arrived in the country, made her forget everything else – everything except the fact that she was a woman and he was a man.
It can’t be allowed to continue, she thought. Lord Ravensford might have an enormous effect on her body, but he was overbearing and dictatorial, and must be made to realise that he could not order her about.
She wondered briefly what he had against Mr Windham: he had been very adamant that she must not speak to him. She knew instinctively that it was not jealousy – Lord Ravensford, she felt, was, without being conceited, too sure of his own powers ever to be jealous of Mr Windham, or any other man - but she could think of no other possible reason for his reaction. True, she had not liked Mr Windham either, but she would hardly have ordered someone else to keep away from him. No, there must be some reason for it, she thought, as she looked deep into Lord Ravensford’s eyes.
And then she saw them change. The gold light burned out of them and he let go of her arms, taking a step back.
‘You are right,’ he said in clipped tones. ‘I have lost my manners completely.’
He gave her one more searching look and then, making her a curt bow, he strode towards the door.
He was almost out of it when Marianne called, ‘Lord Ravensford?’
He turned round.
Marianne hesitated. Was it wise to talk to him? But he seemed to know Mr Windham, and she needed the answer to some questions about the man. ‘About Mr Windham . . . ’
His eyes remained hard. ‘Yes?’
‘I . . . didn’t like the man. I was trying to free myself from him when you arrived.’
‘Then why . . . ?’
‘Because I don’t take kindly to being ordered about. I am not a child. I have a mind of my own and I use it. I will not allow you or anyone else to tell me who I can and
‘Polite conversation?’ he asked. ‘Was that all it was?’ His eyes were darker now that he was angry, she noticed. In fact, his whole body had changed. It seemed to have grown, and his presence filled the room. ‘Tell me,’ he demanded, ‘what was your conversation about?’
For one moment she nearly told him. So strong was his presence, and so unsettled was she by Mr Windham’s pointed questions, that she longed to talk to him about it – though why she should think of talking to Lord Ravensford, when Mr Cosgrove was older and wiser, and an old family friend into the bargain, she did not know. But she was angry with Lord Ravensford for thinking he could order her life, and the moment passed.
‘Your manners haven’t improved,’ she told him, angered by his high-handed attitude. ‘I will talk to whoever I choose.’
‘Marianne.’ He used her name again, and crossing over to her in one stride he gripped her by the arms, looking intently down into her eyes. ‘This is too important a matter to trifle with. I want to know what he said.’
His eyes bored down into her. He was so close to her that she was made forcefully aware of everything about him: his angular cheekbones, golden eyes and exciting lips. Her own parted in unknowing invitation and she gazed up at him. She had never felt like this before. She had never lost control of herself. But now she seemed to be melting. The Miss Travis who ran her family’s estate and who spent her life on her duties seemed to be liquefying, dropping away, until all that was left at the centre was Marianne. Marianne, who wanted to forget her duties and be free again; Marianne who, innocent though she was, knew there was a world beyond the one she had already experienced and wanted Lord Ravensford to take her there, leading her by the hand. No one had ever made her feel as he made her feel. Not once in her three London seasons had she met a man who made her pulses race, or even made them stir. But Lord Ravensford, newly arrived in the country, made her forget everything else – everything except the fact that she was a woman and he was a man.
It can’t be allowed to continue, she thought. Lord Ravensford might have an enormous effect on her body, but he was overbearing and dictatorial, and must be made to realise that he could not order her about.
She wondered briefly what he had against Mr Windham: he had been very adamant that she must not speak to him. She knew instinctively that it was not jealousy – Lord Ravensford, she felt, was, without being conceited, too sure of his own powers ever to be jealous of Mr Windham, or any other man - but she could think of no other possible reason for his reaction. True, she had not liked Mr Windham either, but she would hardly have ordered someone else to keep away from him. No, there must be some reason for it, she thought, as she looked deep into Lord Ravensford’s eyes.
And then she saw them change. The gold light burned out of them and he let go of her arms, taking a step back.
‘You are right,’ he said in clipped tones. ‘I have lost my manners completely.’
He gave her one more searching look and then, making her a curt bow, he strode towards the door.
He was almost out of it when Marianne called, ‘Lord Ravensford?’
He turned round.
Marianne hesitated. Was it wise to talk to him? But he seemed to know Mr Windham, and she needed the answer to some questions about the man. ‘About Mr Windham . . . ’
His eyes remained hard. ‘Yes?’
‘I . . . didn’t like the man. I was trying to free myself from him when you arrived.’
‘Then why . . . ?’
‘Because I don’t take kindly to being ordered about. I am not a child. I have a mind of my own and I use it. I will not allow you or anyone else to tell me who I can and
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