Read Online Cupid's Mistake (Cupid Regency Romance) by Karen Harbaugh - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Harbaugh
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anxious look crossed her face, and he decided he would not pry. If she wished to talk of charities, so be it. It was a safe enough topic, after all.
" And to what charities do you contribute?" He watched her as she looked even more anxious.
" I. . . the usual ones, my lord."
He smiled. "I am afraid I will sound like a selfish fellow if I say I do not know what the 'usual' charities are. But I do contribute to a few as well."
Cassandra cast him a glance that was clearly relieved. "I am so glad you do!" she said, then looked worried. "Oh dear. I did not mean to imply that I thought you uncharitable! It is just that talking of one's charities is akin to talking of one's virtues, and that is a prideful thing. I don't wish to seem prideful."
What knots she seemed to tie herself into! Blytheland could not help feeling a little sorry for her. Her bluntness was clearly often at war with her wish to be virtuous, and it was just as clear she knew she blundered—after the fact, unfortunately. He smiled widely at her.
" I promise I will not think you prideful, Miss Hathaway." He turned the carriage on to Hyde Park, then glanced down at her.
Her lips were slightly parted in a smile of gratitude and the sun chose just then to peep from behind the clouds and shine upon her hair, making her curls seem like the waves of the sea at night. The light kissed her cheek and chin and brushed her lips with the color of coral. Suddenly he wanted to plunge his hands into her hair and kiss those lips as the sun had kissed them, to see if they were as warm as they looked.
And then the sun hid behind the clouds again. He grew conscious of the silence between them, how her eyes seemed at once confused and lost, and how he held the reins so tightly that the horses stopped. She must not fall in love with me, for her own sake. I do not have what she needs for me to give. He looked away from her and concentrated on his horses.
What nonsense! He took a deep breath, and it cleared his mind. He did not know the state of her heart and would prefer not to think of it. He smiled wryly to himself. Indeed, what arrogance it was for him to think she might love him! No woman really had before, or not that he could tell, not even Chloe. And truly, it was better that way. He 'd best tend to his own unruly passions instead of pondering the doubtless nonexistent ones of Miss Hathaway, and think in a more rational vein than he had lately.
" Did I say something amiss, my lord?" Cassandra's voice was uncertain.
He smiled at her. "No. Or rather, because you have not yet told me what charities you sponsor, I was left to my own imaginings. For all I know, you are devoted to the reclamation of abused coal scuttles." Cassandra laughed. "One never knows what charity will be in fashion next," he said.
She frowned for a moment, then said, "I suppose there are many who contribute because it is fashionable to do so. And though it is not the best reason to do so, one must be practical about these things."
" You, of course, have chosen a far more practical one than coal scuttles, I imagine?"
Cassandra smiled briefly, then pressed her lips together for a moment. "Yes. I. . . there are various parishes that need help. Food, clothing, blankets—I try to provide them."
She seemed to watch him for some reaction, and her voice was hesitant, as if expecting a reprimand. He wondered for a moment who it was had told her it was not a thing to mention in society. Her mother, probably. Perhaps it was not something most young ladies indulged in, but it was not a socially damning thing after all. He felt a slight touch on his sleeve and looked down at Cassandra 's earnest face.
" It is a terrible thing, the way the poor ch—people live, Lord Blytheland—often abused and starved. No one who has seen one can help but be moved to one's very heart."
He raised his brows. "You have seen them?" he was accustomed to people who gave to charities and spared themselves the sight of the
" And to what charities do you contribute?" He watched her as she looked even more anxious.
" I. . . the usual ones, my lord."
He smiled. "I am afraid I will sound like a selfish fellow if I say I do not know what the 'usual' charities are. But I do contribute to a few as well."
Cassandra cast him a glance that was clearly relieved. "I am so glad you do!" she said, then looked worried. "Oh dear. I did not mean to imply that I thought you uncharitable! It is just that talking of one's charities is akin to talking of one's virtues, and that is a prideful thing. I don't wish to seem prideful."
What knots she seemed to tie herself into! Blytheland could not help feeling a little sorry for her. Her bluntness was clearly often at war with her wish to be virtuous, and it was just as clear she knew she blundered—after the fact, unfortunately. He smiled widely at her.
" I promise I will not think you prideful, Miss Hathaway." He turned the carriage on to Hyde Park, then glanced down at her.
Her lips were slightly parted in a smile of gratitude and the sun chose just then to peep from behind the clouds and shine upon her hair, making her curls seem like the waves of the sea at night. The light kissed her cheek and chin and brushed her lips with the color of coral. Suddenly he wanted to plunge his hands into her hair and kiss those lips as the sun had kissed them, to see if they were as warm as they looked.
And then the sun hid behind the clouds again. He grew conscious of the silence between them, how her eyes seemed at once confused and lost, and how he held the reins so tightly that the horses stopped. She must not fall in love with me, for her own sake. I do not have what she needs for me to give. He looked away from her and concentrated on his horses.
What nonsense! He took a deep breath, and it cleared his mind. He did not know the state of her heart and would prefer not to think of it. He smiled wryly to himself. Indeed, what arrogance it was for him to think she might love him! No woman really had before, or not that he could tell, not even Chloe. And truly, it was better that way. He 'd best tend to his own unruly passions instead of pondering the doubtless nonexistent ones of Miss Hathaway, and think in a more rational vein than he had lately.
" Did I say something amiss, my lord?" Cassandra's voice was uncertain.
He smiled at her. "No. Or rather, because you have not yet told me what charities you sponsor, I was left to my own imaginings. For all I know, you are devoted to the reclamation of abused coal scuttles." Cassandra laughed. "One never knows what charity will be in fashion next," he said.
She frowned for a moment, then said, "I suppose there are many who contribute because it is fashionable to do so. And though it is not the best reason to do so, one must be practical about these things."
" You, of course, have chosen a far more practical one than coal scuttles, I imagine?"
Cassandra smiled briefly, then pressed her lips together for a moment. "Yes. I. . . there are various parishes that need help. Food, clothing, blankets—I try to provide them."
She seemed to watch him for some reaction, and her voice was hesitant, as if expecting a reprimand. He wondered for a moment who it was had told her it was not a thing to mention in society. Her mother, probably. Perhaps it was not something most young ladies indulged in, but it was not a socially damning thing after all. He felt a slight touch on his sleeve and looked down at Cassandra 's earnest face.
" It is a terrible thing, the way the poor ch—people live, Lord Blytheland—often abused and starved. No one who has seen one can help but be moved to one's very heart."
He raised his brows. "You have seen them?" he was accustomed to people who gave to charities and spared themselves the sight of the
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