Read Online Beguiling the Beauty by Sherry Thomas - Free Book Online
Authors: Sherry Thomas
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Tremaine’s driver said he’d brought her here yesterday.”
“I’ll speak to the clerk myself,” said Millie.
She approached the counter, Helena in tow, and made her request. The clerk checked the register again.
“I apologize, ma’am, but we do not have a guest by that name.”
“What about a lady by the name of Fitzhugh or Townsend?”
Helena could not see Venetia ever using Tony’s name again. On her calling cards she was simply Mrs. Arthur Easterbrook.
The clerk looked up apologetically. “Not those, either.”
“Did anyone here see a singularly beautiful lady arriving by herself?” Helena asked.
“I’m afraid not, ma’am.”
“Very well, then,” said Millie. “Do you have the suite reserved for Lady Fitzhugh? I am a day early. I hope that will not present a problem.”
“No, ma’am, not a problem at all. And we have a message for you and Miss Fitzhugh.”
The handwriting on the envelope was Venetia’s familiar scrawl—thank goodness. They opened the message as soon as they were inside their suite.
Dear Millie and Helena,
I have decided to take an earlier steamer out of New York. Please do not worry about me. Am in robust health and tolerable spirits.
I will be waiting for you in London.
Love,
V.
Helena bit her lower lip. If it hadn’t been for her, Venetia would not have gone to his lecture.
Before she’d taken up with Andrew, she’d consideredall the possible outcomes of her action—or so she’d thought. But she had not remotely prepared for such unintended consequences.
Worry gnawed at her. Even for one who’d contemplated and accepted the likelihood of the worst, it was still unnerving just how quickly and unpredictably things could go so wrong.
C hristian worked steadily through the two packets of letters that had caught up with him in New York. The sea, smooth as a tablecloth when the
Rhodesia
passed Sandy Hook into the open Atlantic, grew noticeably less level as the day wore on. He stopped reading reports from his agents and solicitors when the rocking of the ship made it unprofitable to continue. A walk on the decks required frequent use of the handrails, as the ship rocked from side to side. In the smoking lounge, where the gentlemen made their customary bets on the ship’s daily progress, he had to chase after his ashtray.
The rain began at tea, gently enough at first. But before long each drop slammed into the windows with the ferocity of a thrown rock. He watched the rain and thought again of the baroness.
It was possible that she still distracted him because she’d spurned him and he was not accustomed to rejection. But he did not believe so. He was concerned less with his own sentiments and more with the seething intensity of hers. She was ferociously aware of him, yet even more ferociously offended by his attention. And that intrigued him more than her identity or the reason she kept her face concealed.
A strange but not altogether unpleasant sensation, being preoccupied by a woman who was not Mrs. Easterbrook.
Too bad the baroness would have nothing to do with him.
I n theory, repudiating Lexington to his face should have afforded Venetia a modicum of satisfaction.
But the truth was she hadn’t dismissed him. She’d fled from everything that was masculine, confident, and powerful in him, the way a very young girl might run away from the first boy who challenged her to do more than just flirt.
For the rest of the day, instead of congratulating herself on knowing when to cut her losses and abandon clearly demented goals, she stewed in frustration. Was she truly so useless a woman? Had Tony been correct when he’d told her that everything she was, she owed to her looks? Without the advantages conferred by her face, did she have no hope of holding her own with Lexington?
She stared at herself in the mirror. The stewardess she’d selected to help her dress
“I’ll speak to the clerk myself,” said Millie.
She approached the counter, Helena in tow, and made her request. The clerk checked the register again.
“I apologize, ma’am, but we do not have a guest by that name.”
“What about a lady by the name of Fitzhugh or Townsend?”
Helena could not see Venetia ever using Tony’s name again. On her calling cards she was simply Mrs. Arthur Easterbrook.
The clerk looked up apologetically. “Not those, either.”
“Did anyone here see a singularly beautiful lady arriving by herself?” Helena asked.
“I’m afraid not, ma’am.”
“Very well, then,” said Millie. “Do you have the suite reserved for Lady Fitzhugh? I am a day early. I hope that will not present a problem.”
“No, ma’am, not a problem at all. And we have a message for you and Miss Fitzhugh.”
The handwriting on the envelope was Venetia’s familiar scrawl—thank goodness. They opened the message as soon as they were inside their suite.
Dear Millie and Helena,
I have decided to take an earlier steamer out of New York. Please do not worry about me. Am in robust health and tolerable spirits.
I will be waiting for you in London.
Love,
V.
Helena bit her lower lip. If it hadn’t been for her, Venetia would not have gone to his lecture.
Before she’d taken up with Andrew, she’d consideredall the possible outcomes of her action—or so she’d thought. But she had not remotely prepared for such unintended consequences.
Worry gnawed at her. Even for one who’d contemplated and accepted the likelihood of the worst, it was still unnerving just how quickly and unpredictably things could go so wrong.
C hristian worked steadily through the two packets of letters that had caught up with him in New York. The sea, smooth as a tablecloth when the
Rhodesia
passed Sandy Hook into the open Atlantic, grew noticeably less level as the day wore on. He stopped reading reports from his agents and solicitors when the rocking of the ship made it unprofitable to continue. A walk on the decks required frequent use of the handrails, as the ship rocked from side to side. In the smoking lounge, where the gentlemen made their customary bets on the ship’s daily progress, he had to chase after his ashtray.
The rain began at tea, gently enough at first. But before long each drop slammed into the windows with the ferocity of a thrown rock. He watched the rain and thought again of the baroness.
It was possible that she still distracted him because she’d spurned him and he was not accustomed to rejection. But he did not believe so. He was concerned less with his own sentiments and more with the seething intensity of hers. She was ferociously aware of him, yet even more ferociously offended by his attention. And that intrigued him more than her identity or the reason she kept her face concealed.
A strange but not altogether unpleasant sensation, being preoccupied by a woman who was not Mrs. Easterbrook.
Too bad the baroness would have nothing to do with him.
I n theory, repudiating Lexington to his face should have afforded Venetia a modicum of satisfaction.
But the truth was she hadn’t dismissed him. She’d fled from everything that was masculine, confident, and powerful in him, the way a very young girl might run away from the first boy who challenged her to do more than just flirt.
For the rest of the day, instead of congratulating herself on knowing when to cut her losses and abandon clearly demented goals, she stewed in frustration. Was she truly so useless a woman? Had Tony been correct when he’d told her that everything she was, she owed to her looks? Without the advantages conferred by her face, did she have no hope of holding her own with Lexington?
She stared at herself in the mirror. The stewardess she’d selected to help her dress
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