Read Online It Takes Two to Tangle by Theresa Romain - Free Book Online Page A

bent in an expression of wicked humor. “If that’s your idea of a love letter, perhaps you had better ring for tea, and I’ll write it myself.” He shook his head. “What am I saying? I’m not even writing a love letter. It’s a reply, that’s all. It’s a possibility letter.”
    Frances permitted herself another jibe. “Still, Henry. This is one of the oddest things I’ve ever been asked to do, and I once helped Hambleton and Crisp tie their cravats together.”
    He rolled his eyes. “I don’t want you to compose it, only to advise. And you needn’t do anything with my cravat.”
    So of course, she had to look at his cravat when he said that. The starch-white points against his tanned skin, his blue eyes, the sun-golden of his hair. He was a bright palette, all stark colors and clean lines, and his faint scent of soap and evergreen woke something eager within her. She wanted to draw closer to him, breathe deeply, and remember how it felt to be near a man.
    He began tapping his knuckles against the arm of his chair, a pillowed pat that pulled her attention back to his words. “I’ve never written with my left hand before, and I hoped you could help me learn how. My first foray was not a success. I didn’t manage a single legible letter, though I did spoil a very nice desk and cuff with ink.”
    Frances chuckled, and he added, “Ah… that’s why I’ve taken the liberty of removing my coat. I hope you are not offended.”
    â€œNo, certainly not.” Not at all. Her eyes wanted to rove over his form again, but she fastened them to his face with admirable tact. “It wouldn’t do for formal company, of course, but we’re in your home and we’re quite alone.”
    He seemed to become aware of that fact as well. “I apologize if this is not an appropriate request. I thought since you help Caro in so many ways, that this would not be wrong. To help her receive her reply.”
    She relented at last. It wasn’t his fault he had misinterpreted the letter. It wasn’t his fault that he wanted Caroline. As Frances truly did like him, she ought to give him the friendship he seemed to want so keenly.
    Even if she would rather be selfish.
    â€œNo, no. I was only teasing. I always deal with Caroline’s correspondence, so there’s nothing wrong with this, Henry.” Frances savored the taste of his name, of the intimacy he had granted her.
    But that wasn’t why she’d been summoned here. Apparently.
    She drew two chairs over to a graceful tambour writing desk positioned near a window to catch daylight. It held pens, ink, paper, and sand for blotting. Everything they needed.
    â€œDo sit,” she said, sinking into a chair. “Take this pen in your hand and see how it feels.”
    He hefted it sharply in a clenched fist. “It feels wrong.”
    Frances pressed her lips together to hide a smile. “It’s not a riding crop, you know. Just wrap your fingers around it the same way you always did with your right.”
    She slid the quill between his second and third fingers. He looked surprised at the contact, and Frances drew her fingers back. “It would be easier if we had a quill from the right wing of the goose, for those fit the left hand better. But these will work well enough until you can lay in a supply. Try forming some letters—very large, at first, just to get accustomed to the movement.”
    He didn’t move; he only stared at his left arm.
    â€œWhat is it?” Frances asked.
    A sideways flick of his eyes. “I’m sorry to ask this, but would you roll back the left sleeve? This is my brother’s shirt, and…” He trailed off, ruddy from chagrin under his tan.
    â€œOh, of course,” Frances blurted. “Writing with the left hand does tend to make a muck of one’s hand and wrist. How thoughtful of you to consider the fate