Read Online Devil in My Arms by Samantha Kane - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Samantha Kane
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mortified embarrassment. She rolled her eyes when she remembered he couldn’t see her. “Your gloves are cream silk, your slippers dyed to match your gown. I especially enjoy the little flowers on the toes of your shoes, which match the flowers in your hair. Are they pinned to your head? They seem to grow right out of your curls.”
She didn’t answer right away, astonished at the detail of his description. “They are pinned to my curls, not my head. Do you imagine women stick pins in their scalp for fashion?”
“I am no longer surprised at the lengths to which women will go for fashion. But I am pleased you have not pierced your skull.” He peered over his shoulder at her. “Did I pass your test?”
She nodded graciously, trying to hide her shock at how well he’d described her. “You did. My apologies for doubting your sincerity.”
He accepted her apology with a smile. “Now, without looking down, describe my attire.”
She blinked just once, hoping her consternation didn’t show. “I did not compliment your attire.”
“I know. I am still stinging from the wound. Now, describe it.”
“You are wearing a green frock jacket,” she said, sure of this, at least. “It looks splendid with your red hair.”
“I do not have red hair,” he corrected her. “It is auburn. What else?”
“It is red,” she told him firmly, amused by his vanity. “And black pantaloons that are shockingly—dare I say indecently—tight.” There was that flirtatious banter again.She mentally chastised herself.
“Thank you for noticing,” he said, as if accepting a great compliment. “And?”
“And?” she asked. “A waistcoat and a muslin shirt, with a black cravat, tied in a simple knot.”
“We shall return to the waistcoat in a moment,” he said, putting his hand on her elbow and pulling her up next to him. He placed her hand on his arm and began walking with her, gently guiding her around a large group of younger people all talking at once. “Do you know the name of this simple knot?”
“No. I’m unfamiliar with men’s fashions. After so long in the country, I’m only just getting caught up on women’s fashions.” She felt like a country bumpkin at the admission.
“It is a barrel knot,” he supplied. “Considered by some to be a bit old-fashioned, but I like the simplicity of it.”
“It suits you,” she agreed. Privately, she thought it more than suited him. It showed off his long, elegant neck and framed his strong jaw to perfection. His red hair was just a little longer than was fashionable, but not so long as to be remarkable, by even the highest standards. A few curling tendrils draped along his collar in the back. She’d been staring at them while she was standing behind him a moment ago. It was either stare at his hair or his indecently tight pantaloons. For her own sanity, she’d chosen his hair.
“Thank you,” he said again. “I am forever untangling knots. The metaphorical kind. Whenever possible, I choose simplicity in my own life.”
She got the impression he was speaking about more than his cravat. Did he mean her? He was certainly more of a complication for her than she for him. But if he felt that way, they could just go their separate ways. For selfish reasons, she couldn’t bring herself to suggest it, however.
“Now, my waistcoat. It is the pièce de résistance of my attire this evening. Can you describe it?”
She didn’t even pretend not to have to think very hard to remember his waistcoat. “It was black as well,” she said slowly, “although it had some embroidery on it. Was it the blue vines again?” She gave up with a sigh. “I concede I cannot describe your finery as well as you have described mine.”
“You remember the blue vines?” he asked, clearly surprised. “I’m pleased.” He chuckled and turned her to face him. “Now look.”
She peered closely at his chest and noticed the little vines embroidered all over his waistcoat this time
She didn’t answer right away, astonished at the detail of his description. “They are pinned to my curls, not my head. Do you imagine women stick pins in their scalp for fashion?”
“I am no longer surprised at the lengths to which women will go for fashion. But I am pleased you have not pierced your skull.” He peered over his shoulder at her. “Did I pass your test?”
She nodded graciously, trying to hide her shock at how well he’d described her. “You did. My apologies for doubting your sincerity.”
He accepted her apology with a smile. “Now, without looking down, describe my attire.”
She blinked just once, hoping her consternation didn’t show. “I did not compliment your attire.”
“I know. I am still stinging from the wound. Now, describe it.”
“You are wearing a green frock jacket,” she said, sure of this, at least. “It looks splendid with your red hair.”
“I do not have red hair,” he corrected her. “It is auburn. What else?”
“It is red,” she told him firmly, amused by his vanity. “And black pantaloons that are shockingly—dare I say indecently—tight.” There was that flirtatious banter again.She mentally chastised herself.
“Thank you for noticing,” he said, as if accepting a great compliment. “And?”
“And?” she asked. “A waistcoat and a muslin shirt, with a black cravat, tied in a simple knot.”
“We shall return to the waistcoat in a moment,” he said, putting his hand on her elbow and pulling her up next to him. He placed her hand on his arm and began walking with her, gently guiding her around a large group of younger people all talking at once. “Do you know the name of this simple knot?”
“No. I’m unfamiliar with men’s fashions. After so long in the country, I’m only just getting caught up on women’s fashions.” She felt like a country bumpkin at the admission.
“It is a barrel knot,” he supplied. “Considered by some to be a bit old-fashioned, but I like the simplicity of it.”
“It suits you,” she agreed. Privately, she thought it more than suited him. It showed off his long, elegant neck and framed his strong jaw to perfection. His red hair was just a little longer than was fashionable, but not so long as to be remarkable, by even the highest standards. A few curling tendrils draped along his collar in the back. She’d been staring at them while she was standing behind him a moment ago. It was either stare at his hair or his indecently tight pantaloons. For her own sanity, she’d chosen his hair.
“Thank you,” he said again. “I am forever untangling knots. The metaphorical kind. Whenever possible, I choose simplicity in my own life.”
She got the impression he was speaking about more than his cravat. Did he mean her? He was certainly more of a complication for her than she for him. But if he felt that way, they could just go their separate ways. For selfish reasons, she couldn’t bring herself to suggest it, however.
“Now, my waistcoat. It is the pièce de résistance of my attire this evening. Can you describe it?”
She didn’t even pretend not to have to think very hard to remember his waistcoat. “It was black as well,” she said slowly, “although it had some embroidery on it. Was it the blue vines again?” She gave up with a sigh. “I concede I cannot describe your finery as well as you have described mine.”
“You remember the blue vines?” he asked, clearly surprised. “I’m pleased.” He chuckled and turned her to face him. “Now look.”
She peered closely at his chest and noticed the little vines embroidered all over his waistcoat this time
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