Read Online Lord Perfect by Loretta Chase - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Loretta Chase
Ads: Link
wits about her, he would
have passed, and she would not have made a spectacle of herself.
Again.
She saw his eyes widen when he recognized her, and the
unguarded expression she saw in those dark depths sent a jolt of heat
through her.
The look vanished in an instant, but the heat remained,
tingling in her veins and softening her muscles.
He swiftly set her on her feet. He
was a good deal slower to let go. She was aware of bands of heat
where the long, gloved hands clasped her upper arms. She was aware of
warmth radiating from the large, hard body inches from hers. She saw
the textures of wool and linen and took in the strong contrast of
color: brilliant white against deep green. She inhaled the clean
scents of soap and starch, the more exotic fragrance mingling with
them, of a discreet and costly masculine cologne… and far more
insidious, the scent of him .
"Mrs. Wingate," he said. "I was hoping
our paths would cross."
"You would have done better to look rather than
simply hope," she said. "Had I not had the presence of mind
to throw myself in your way, you might have missed me altogether."
His grip tightened. She realized then that she was still
holding on, her hand still clutching his forearm. It was like
grasping warm marble.
She let go, dragged her gaze from his, and focused on
her parcels, strewn about the pavement. A passing vehicle had crushed
her basket under its wheels.
"You may release me," she said. "I should
like to collect my purchases before an enterprising street urchin
makes off with them."
He released her and gathered her parcels.
She watched him perform the lowly task with his usual
perfect grace. Even his coat did not appear to stretch at the seams
when he bent, though it fit him like skin. Weston's work, very
likely. And what his lordship had paid for it would probably keep her
and Olivia comfortably for a year, perhaps two or three.
The crowd forming about them watched him, too, with
undisguised curiosity. Bathsheba belatedly collected her wits.
"A footman, out of work," she explained. "One
of my late husband's relatives turned him off, poor fellow."
"He's come to the wrong neighborhood, Mrs. W,"
said an onlooker. "There ain't hardly work enough for ordinary
folk hereabouts."
"Pity, ain't it?" said another. "Big,
strong fellow like that. The Quality likes them tall, strapping
fellows, I heard. Is it true, ma'am?"
"Yes," she said. "Tall
footmen are de rigeur ."
When he'd retrieved all her parcels,
she started away at a brisk pace, leaving the audience to argue about
what de rigeur meant.
When they'd turned a corner and the crowd was out of
earshot, he said, "I'm a footman?"
"You should not have come to this neighborhood
dressed so fine," she said. "Clearly you have no idea how
to travel incognito."
"I had not thought about it."
"Obviously not," she said. "Luckily, one
of us comes of a long line of accomplished liars. Your being a
footman accounts for both your elegant dress and your air of
superiority."
"My air of—" He broke off. "You are
walking in the wrong direction. Is not Bleeding Heart Yard the other
way?"
She stopped. "You found out where I live."
He nodded over the bundles stacked under his jaw. "It
is not Popham's fault. I bullied him. I wish I had not. I despise
bullying. But I was… exceedingly annoyed."
"With Popham?"
"With my brother-in-law. Atherton."
"Then why did you not bully your brother-in-law?"
"He is in Scotland. Did I not tell you that?"
"My lord," she said.
"Ah, here is a quiet churchyard," he said,
indicating the place with his chin. "Why do we not go in? We
shall be private without giving an appearance of impropriety."
She was not so sanguine about what appeared improper and
what didn't. Still, if he had his hands full of bundles…
She went in, and paused at a spot close by the gateway.
He set her purchases down on a gravestone. "I am
obliged to take Peregrine to Scotland in a fortnight," he said.
"His father makes anarchy of our neat
have passed, and she would not have made a spectacle of herself.
Again.
She saw his eyes widen when he recognized her, and the
unguarded expression she saw in those dark depths sent a jolt of heat
through her.
The look vanished in an instant, but the heat remained,
tingling in her veins and softening her muscles.
He swiftly set her on her feet. He
was a good deal slower to let go. She was aware of bands of heat
where the long, gloved hands clasped her upper arms. She was aware of
warmth radiating from the large, hard body inches from hers. She saw
the textures of wool and linen and took in the strong contrast of
color: brilliant white against deep green. She inhaled the clean
scents of soap and starch, the more exotic fragrance mingling with
them, of a discreet and costly masculine cologne… and far more
insidious, the scent of him .
"Mrs. Wingate," he said. "I was hoping
our paths would cross."
"You would have done better to look rather than
simply hope," she said. "Had I not had the presence of mind
to throw myself in your way, you might have missed me altogether."
His grip tightened. She realized then that she was still
holding on, her hand still clutching his forearm. It was like
grasping warm marble.
She let go, dragged her gaze from his, and focused on
her parcels, strewn about the pavement. A passing vehicle had crushed
her basket under its wheels.
"You may release me," she said. "I should
like to collect my purchases before an enterprising street urchin
makes off with them."
He released her and gathered her parcels.
She watched him perform the lowly task with his usual
perfect grace. Even his coat did not appear to stretch at the seams
when he bent, though it fit him like skin. Weston's work, very
likely. And what his lordship had paid for it would probably keep her
and Olivia comfortably for a year, perhaps two or three.
The crowd forming about them watched him, too, with
undisguised curiosity. Bathsheba belatedly collected her wits.
"A footman, out of work," she explained. "One
of my late husband's relatives turned him off, poor fellow."
"He's come to the wrong neighborhood, Mrs. W,"
said an onlooker. "There ain't hardly work enough for ordinary
folk hereabouts."
"Pity, ain't it?" said another. "Big,
strong fellow like that. The Quality likes them tall, strapping
fellows, I heard. Is it true, ma'am?"
"Yes," she said. "Tall
footmen are de rigeur ."
When he'd retrieved all her parcels,
she started away at a brisk pace, leaving the audience to argue about
what de rigeur meant.
When they'd turned a corner and the crowd was out of
earshot, he said, "I'm a footman?"
"You should not have come to this neighborhood
dressed so fine," she said. "Clearly you have no idea how
to travel incognito."
"I had not thought about it."
"Obviously not," she said. "Luckily, one
of us comes of a long line of accomplished liars. Your being a
footman accounts for both your elegant dress and your air of
superiority."
"My air of—" He broke off. "You are
walking in the wrong direction. Is not Bleeding Heart Yard the other
way?"
She stopped. "You found out where I live."
He nodded over the bundles stacked under his jaw. "It
is not Popham's fault. I bullied him. I wish I had not. I despise
bullying. But I was… exceedingly annoyed."
"With Popham?"
"With my brother-in-law. Atherton."
"Then why did you not bully your brother-in-law?"
"He is in Scotland. Did I not tell you that?"
"My lord," she said.
"Ah, here is a quiet churchyard," he said,
indicating the place with his chin. "Why do we not go in? We
shall be private without giving an appearance of impropriety."
She was not so sanguine about what appeared improper and
what didn't. Still, if he had his hands full of bundles…
She went in, and paused at a spot close by the gateway.
He set her purchases down on a gravestone. "I am
obliged to take Peregrine to Scotland in a fortnight," he said.
"His father makes anarchy of our neat
Similar Books
