Read Online Beguiling the Beauty by Sherry Thomas - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sherry Thomas
Ads: Link
for dinner, Miss Arnaud, had coiffed her hair into a sleek chignon that left her face quite bare. “It’s better this way,” the girl had said. “Madame is so beautiful; nothing must interfere.”
Venetia could not judge. She saw an assembly of features that were often a little odd: Her eyes were
very
far apart; her jaw was rather too square for her own taste; her nose was neither diminutive nor pert—it went on and on, in fact.
But none of it mattered here. To conquer him, she would have to wage her campaign with an arsenal that did not include beauty.
If, that was, she had the guts to go back to him.
The thought of his hands on her—she shuddered. But not entirely from revulsion. As much as she despised him, he was a handsome man. And a part of her found his nerve and sangfroid utterly riveting.
She must come to a decision soon. She’d dismissed Miss Arnaud a long time ago. In the dining saloon they would be serving the final courses of dinner now. If she missed him tonight, quite likely by tomorrow he’d have found himself another lover.
She shuddered again, a mixture of fear, loathing, and a fierce, perverse need to bring this man to heel.
Her hand reached toward her veiled hat.
Her decision, it appeared, had been made.
T he going was more difficult than she’d anticipated.
She knew, of course, that the
Rhodesia
had run into a fairly significant storm. But sitting in a bolted chair, alternately questioning her sanity and raging at her cowardice, had not given her a proper appreciation of how animated the Atlantic had become.
But out in the mahogany-paneled corridors, she tottered as if drunk, lurching from bulkhead to bulkhead. It wasn’t so bad when the floor rose to meet her. But every time it dropped away, there was a moment of disconcerting weightlessness.
The ship’s lights flickered. It plunged at an angle that would have served for a young children’s slide. She gripped a nearby doorknob to keep her balance. The
Rhodesia
, reaching the trough of the wave, began to climb again. She grabbed onto a sconce so she wouldn’t tumble backward.
The dining saloon was reached by a grand staircase adorned by a frieze of Japanese gold paper. There werealso carved teak panels, but she could not see them very well, for the steps were packed with ladies in feathers and gentlemen in tails heading out, everyone hanging on to the banister.
Panic assailed her. Had dinner already concluded? Was she too late after all? But Lexington was not among the departing diners, so she pressed forward, descending the stairs against the exodus of passengers, ignoring their stares of curiosity and disapproval.
The dining saloon was a hundred feet long and sixty feet wide. The ceiling opened at the center into a rectangular wall that rose two decks to a glass-covered dome. On a clear day, sunlight would spill down this well and illuminate the rows of Corinthian columns and the four long tables that ran nearly the whole length of the room, each capable of accommodating more than a hundred diners.
On this stormy night, a bright if quivery light still cascaded from the well, its source the large, silver-branched electric chandelier that swung with the pitch and roll of the ocean liner. Had Venetia arrived an hour earlier, the sound of silverware and muted laughter would have greeted her, the familiar murmurs of privilege and satisfaction. But now the dining saloon was largely deserted. Two of the long tables were completely empty, all the dishes and cutlery cleared, all the bolted chairs turned out. A few hardy passengers still lingered, their plates and glasses held in place by a special wooden frame set on the table. A middle-aged, robust-looking woman loudly discussed her experiences with past nor’easters.
Lexington, in evening formals, sat by himself near the windows, a cup of coffee before him, his gaze on the storm outside. She prayed for no abrupt
Venetia could not judge. She saw an assembly of features that were often a little odd: Her eyes were
very
far apart; her jaw was rather too square for her own taste; her nose was neither diminutive nor pert—it went on and on, in fact.
But none of it mattered here. To conquer him, she would have to wage her campaign with an arsenal that did not include beauty.
If, that was, she had the guts to go back to him.
The thought of his hands on her—she shuddered. But not entirely from revulsion. As much as she despised him, he was a handsome man. And a part of her found his nerve and sangfroid utterly riveting.
She must come to a decision soon. She’d dismissed Miss Arnaud a long time ago. In the dining saloon they would be serving the final courses of dinner now. If she missed him tonight, quite likely by tomorrow he’d have found himself another lover.
She shuddered again, a mixture of fear, loathing, and a fierce, perverse need to bring this man to heel.
Her hand reached toward her veiled hat.
Her decision, it appeared, had been made.
T he going was more difficult than she’d anticipated.
She knew, of course, that the
Rhodesia
had run into a fairly significant storm. But sitting in a bolted chair, alternately questioning her sanity and raging at her cowardice, had not given her a proper appreciation of how animated the Atlantic had become.
But out in the mahogany-paneled corridors, she tottered as if drunk, lurching from bulkhead to bulkhead. It wasn’t so bad when the floor rose to meet her. But every time it dropped away, there was a moment of disconcerting weightlessness.
The ship’s lights flickered. It plunged at an angle that would have served for a young children’s slide. She gripped a nearby doorknob to keep her balance. The
Rhodesia
, reaching the trough of the wave, began to climb again. She grabbed onto a sconce so she wouldn’t tumble backward.
The dining saloon was reached by a grand staircase adorned by a frieze of Japanese gold paper. There werealso carved teak panels, but she could not see them very well, for the steps were packed with ladies in feathers and gentlemen in tails heading out, everyone hanging on to the banister.
Panic assailed her. Had dinner already concluded? Was she too late after all? But Lexington was not among the departing diners, so she pressed forward, descending the stairs against the exodus of passengers, ignoring their stares of curiosity and disapproval.
The dining saloon was a hundred feet long and sixty feet wide. The ceiling opened at the center into a rectangular wall that rose two decks to a glass-covered dome. On a clear day, sunlight would spill down this well and illuminate the rows of Corinthian columns and the four long tables that ran nearly the whole length of the room, each capable of accommodating more than a hundred diners.
On this stormy night, a bright if quivery light still cascaded from the well, its source the large, silver-branched electric chandelier that swung with the pitch and roll of the ocean liner. Had Venetia arrived an hour earlier, the sound of silverware and muted laughter would have greeted her, the familiar murmurs of privilege and satisfaction. But now the dining saloon was largely deserted. Two of the long tables were completely empty, all the dishes and cutlery cleared, all the bolted chairs turned out. A few hardy passengers still lingered, their plates and glasses held in place by a special wooden frame set on the table. A middle-aged, robust-looking woman loudly discussed her experiences with past nor’easters.
Lexington, in evening formals, sat by himself near the windows, a cup of coffee before him, his gaze on the storm outside. She prayed for no abrupt
Similar Books
