Read Online Jacquie D'Alessandro by Who Will Take This Man - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Who Will Take This Man
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time away from polite Society, but he did hold a few social graces. Unfortunately, something about Miss Chilton-Grizedale clearly did not bode well for him recalling any of his manners.
“Forgive me,” he said. “May I interest you in something to eat? Or tea, perhaps?”
“No, thank you.” Her gaze swept over his attire. “How long before you are ready to depart?”
Depart? Oh, yes. The crates. The stone. The curse. His life with Lady Sarah. “I need a few moments to collect my journals.”
“And to change into some proper attire.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I must say, I am growing weary of these repeated comments on my clothing. Nor do I particularly care to be on the receiving end of such a peremptory order.”
She raised her brows. “Peremptory order? I prefer to call it a strong suggestion.”
“Yes, I’m certain you do. And there is nothing wrong with what I am wearing.”
“Perhaps if you were tromping about in the desert, or along the Nile. You just admitted that you lack knowledge of modern human behavior. I, however, am something of an expert on the subject. Pray believe me when I tell you that your present attire is unacceptable for going out-of-doors.” She pursed her lips into a prim line. “It is also unacceptable for receiving guests. All in all, it is simply unacceptable.”
Philip turned to Bakari. “Do I look unacceptable?”
Bakari merely harrumphed and strode from the foyer in an altogether unhelpful manner. Philip swiveled his attention back to Miss Chilton-Grizedale. “If you think I’m going to truss myself up like a goose in form-fitting, fussy, dandified clothes just to look ‘acceptable’ to strangers I care nothing about, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“The members of Society, whether you are personally acquainted with them or not, are your peers, Lord Greybourne, not strangers. Such august company lends one respectability. How can you take that so lightly?”
“And how can you take it so seriously?”
Her chin lifted a notch. “Perhaps because, as a woman who must depend upon herself for her livelihood, my respectability is of the utmost importance to me—and is something I take very seriously. Lady Sarah is not a stranger. Nor is your sister, whom I’ve heard so much about. Are you saying that you care nothing for them?”
“ Catherine would not be so shallow as to condemn me because I’m not clad in the latest fashion.”
Bright red stained her cheeks at his arch observation. “But like it or not, your behavior will reflect upon both your fiancée and your sister, not to mention your father. If you won’t think of your own reputation, think of theirs.” Her brows lifted. “Or is a world adventurer such as yourself too selfish to do so?”
Annoyance flooded him at her words. Damn irritating woman. Even more so because he couldn’t deny she had a valid point. Now that he was back in the confining restraints of “civilization” his actions would reflect on others. For ten years he hadn’t had to think about anyone except himself. His departure from England had marked the first time in his life he’d been able to say and do anything he damn well felt like saying or doing, without the censure of Society’s—or Father’s—glare beating down upon him. It was a freedom he’d reveled in, and one he did not relish curtailing in any way. But he’d rather suffer a cobra bite than do anything to hurt Catherine.
“I’ll change my clothing,” he said, unable to keep the snarl from his voice.
She shot him a satisfied—no, a smug —smile that all but screamed, Of course you will, upping his irritation several notches. Muttering under his breath about autocratic females, he retired to his bedchamber, returning several minutes later, his concessions consisting of changing into a “proper” pair of breeches and yanking on a jacket over his loose-fitting shirt, purposely leaving his jacket unbuttoned.
When she raised her brows and
“Forgive me,” he said. “May I interest you in something to eat? Or tea, perhaps?”
“No, thank you.” Her gaze swept over his attire. “How long before you are ready to depart?”
Depart? Oh, yes. The crates. The stone. The curse. His life with Lady Sarah. “I need a few moments to collect my journals.”
“And to change into some proper attire.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I must say, I am growing weary of these repeated comments on my clothing. Nor do I particularly care to be on the receiving end of such a peremptory order.”
She raised her brows. “Peremptory order? I prefer to call it a strong suggestion.”
“Yes, I’m certain you do. And there is nothing wrong with what I am wearing.”
“Perhaps if you were tromping about in the desert, or along the Nile. You just admitted that you lack knowledge of modern human behavior. I, however, am something of an expert on the subject. Pray believe me when I tell you that your present attire is unacceptable for going out-of-doors.” She pursed her lips into a prim line. “It is also unacceptable for receiving guests. All in all, it is simply unacceptable.”
Philip turned to Bakari. “Do I look unacceptable?”
Bakari merely harrumphed and strode from the foyer in an altogether unhelpful manner. Philip swiveled his attention back to Miss Chilton-Grizedale. “If you think I’m going to truss myself up like a goose in form-fitting, fussy, dandified clothes just to look ‘acceptable’ to strangers I care nothing about, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“The members of Society, whether you are personally acquainted with them or not, are your peers, Lord Greybourne, not strangers. Such august company lends one respectability. How can you take that so lightly?”
“And how can you take it so seriously?”
Her chin lifted a notch. “Perhaps because, as a woman who must depend upon herself for her livelihood, my respectability is of the utmost importance to me—and is something I take very seriously. Lady Sarah is not a stranger. Nor is your sister, whom I’ve heard so much about. Are you saying that you care nothing for them?”
“ Catherine would not be so shallow as to condemn me because I’m not clad in the latest fashion.”
Bright red stained her cheeks at his arch observation. “But like it or not, your behavior will reflect upon both your fiancée and your sister, not to mention your father. If you won’t think of your own reputation, think of theirs.” Her brows lifted. “Or is a world adventurer such as yourself too selfish to do so?”
Annoyance flooded him at her words. Damn irritating woman. Even more so because he couldn’t deny she had a valid point. Now that he was back in the confining restraints of “civilization” his actions would reflect on others. For ten years he hadn’t had to think about anyone except himself. His departure from England had marked the first time in his life he’d been able to say and do anything he damn well felt like saying or doing, without the censure of Society’s—or Father’s—glare beating down upon him. It was a freedom he’d reveled in, and one he did not relish curtailing in any way. But he’d rather suffer a cobra bite than do anything to hurt Catherine.
“I’ll change my clothing,” he said, unable to keep the snarl from his voice.
She shot him a satisfied—no, a smug —smile that all but screamed, Of course you will, upping his irritation several notches. Muttering under his breath about autocratic females, he retired to his bedchamber, returning several minutes later, his concessions consisting of changing into a “proper” pair of breeches and yanking on a jacket over his loose-fitting shirt, purposely leaving his jacket unbuttoned.
When she raised her brows and
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