Read Online Miss Lacey's Last Fling (A Regency Romance) by Candice Hern - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Candice Hern
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words. "I really don't think—"
"Overheard her tell Lady Samantha Kirby that she ain't looking for a husband, only wants to have fun," Fellowes said.
"I've heard much the same," said Vaughn. "And that seems to be precisely what she's doing. A chip off the aunt's block, if you ask me."
"I don't believe I did ask, actually," Max muttered.
"Pretty woman, too," Vaughn continued. "A bit tall, but very nicely put together. Never saw such a delectable neck. Love to work my way down it, what?"
"Egad!" Max exclaimed.
"I say, Vaughn," Fellowes said, "I believe I spoke first. Since Davenant ain't interested—"
"Then it's every man for himself," Vaughn said. "She don't seem to favor any one in particular anyway. Look at that mob. Every single one of 'em thinks she is flirting with him alone. But she don't play favorites. Dangles 'em all with equal promise. Now, I ask you, Davenant, what's a man to think?"
What, indeed? Either Max had the girl pegged all wrong, or she was headed for serious trouble. If she was in fact an innocent and every rake and rogue in town thought her otherwise, she might find herself in the soup before long. Fanny would have to pack her off back to Devon and her starchy father; and if what Max had heard of the man were true, he would like as not throw her out on her ear.
On the other hand, what if Max had simply been blinded by the perpetual wonder in those big hazel eyes, when it was the sensual mouth that marked her true character? Did every other man see what he didn't? Could she in fact be more like Fanny than he'd thought?
Max wondered if Fanny had been altogether honest with him regarding Rosalind. She seemed to delight in throwing them together, and she knew full well that he'd never had a respectable intention in all his life. Was Fanny simply setting him up for quick fling? Was she perhaps seeing Max and Rosalind as a reflection of herself and his father, joining them as sort of book-ended liaisons spanning the decades in perfect symmetry?
Well, by Jove, if that's what was afoot Max would be happy to oblige. Though certainly not the most beautiful woman he'd ever known, Rosalind was definitely one of the most intriguing. If he thought for one minute she was after nothing more than a quick liaison in town, he wanted to be the one to accommodate her. She shouldn't have to settle for Vaughn or Fellowes or any one of those barbarians surrounding Aldrich's curricle. She should have the best. She should have Max.
As they neared the curricle, Max could not help but notice the scornful looks of respectable matrons leading their young charges away from Rosalind's laughter as she sat surrounded by a thong of adoring bucks and beaux. Were they outraged by her uninhibited enjoyment, or by the fact that she drew the attention of so many young men away from their daughters? In either case, Rosalind was winning no friends among Society's high sticklers.
When the three men reached the edge of the crowd, Rosalind looked up and saw Max. She smiled broadly and waved to him.
"Max!" she called out and the crowd of men reluctantly parted to allow him access. "Did you see? Did you see me fly?"
"Indeed I did, minx. I thought for a moment you might take a nose dive straight into the Serpentine. My nerves will never be the same, I assure you. I shall require at least a week's rest to recover."
"Jeremy," she said, leaning over to her proud young swain, "would you mind terribly if I stepped down for just the tiniest moment and walked a short way with Max? I have something particular to say to him."
Aldrich did not look pleased, but obviously had no desire to appear the possessive cad and nodded his acquiescence.
"I promise to be back in two shakes," she said, smiling sweetly at the young man. "Hand me down, Max, if you please."
To the frustrated groans and protests from her admirers, all of whom were jockeying for position to do the honors, Rosalind placed her hands on Max's shoulders and allowed him to lift her
"Overheard her tell Lady Samantha Kirby that she ain't looking for a husband, only wants to have fun," Fellowes said.
"I've heard much the same," said Vaughn. "And that seems to be precisely what she's doing. A chip off the aunt's block, if you ask me."
"I don't believe I did ask, actually," Max muttered.
"Pretty woman, too," Vaughn continued. "A bit tall, but very nicely put together. Never saw such a delectable neck. Love to work my way down it, what?"
"Egad!" Max exclaimed.
"I say, Vaughn," Fellowes said, "I believe I spoke first. Since Davenant ain't interested—"
"Then it's every man for himself," Vaughn said. "She don't seem to favor any one in particular anyway. Look at that mob. Every single one of 'em thinks she is flirting with him alone. But she don't play favorites. Dangles 'em all with equal promise. Now, I ask you, Davenant, what's a man to think?"
What, indeed? Either Max had the girl pegged all wrong, or she was headed for serious trouble. If she was in fact an innocent and every rake and rogue in town thought her otherwise, she might find herself in the soup before long. Fanny would have to pack her off back to Devon and her starchy father; and if what Max had heard of the man were true, he would like as not throw her out on her ear.
On the other hand, what if Max had simply been blinded by the perpetual wonder in those big hazel eyes, when it was the sensual mouth that marked her true character? Did every other man see what he didn't? Could she in fact be more like Fanny than he'd thought?
Max wondered if Fanny had been altogether honest with him regarding Rosalind. She seemed to delight in throwing them together, and she knew full well that he'd never had a respectable intention in all his life. Was Fanny simply setting him up for quick fling? Was she perhaps seeing Max and Rosalind as a reflection of herself and his father, joining them as sort of book-ended liaisons spanning the decades in perfect symmetry?
Well, by Jove, if that's what was afoot Max would be happy to oblige. Though certainly not the most beautiful woman he'd ever known, Rosalind was definitely one of the most intriguing. If he thought for one minute she was after nothing more than a quick liaison in town, he wanted to be the one to accommodate her. She shouldn't have to settle for Vaughn or Fellowes or any one of those barbarians surrounding Aldrich's curricle. She should have the best. She should have Max.
As they neared the curricle, Max could not help but notice the scornful looks of respectable matrons leading their young charges away from Rosalind's laughter as she sat surrounded by a thong of adoring bucks and beaux. Were they outraged by her uninhibited enjoyment, or by the fact that she drew the attention of so many young men away from their daughters? In either case, Rosalind was winning no friends among Society's high sticklers.
When the three men reached the edge of the crowd, Rosalind looked up and saw Max. She smiled broadly and waved to him.
"Max!" she called out and the crowd of men reluctantly parted to allow him access. "Did you see? Did you see me fly?"
"Indeed I did, minx. I thought for a moment you might take a nose dive straight into the Serpentine. My nerves will never be the same, I assure you. I shall require at least a week's rest to recover."
"Jeremy," she said, leaning over to her proud young swain, "would you mind terribly if I stepped down for just the tiniest moment and walked a short way with Max? I have something particular to say to him."
Aldrich did not look pleased, but obviously had no desire to appear the possessive cad and nodded his acquiescence.
"I promise to be back in two shakes," she said, smiling sweetly at the young man. "Hand me down, Max, if you please."
To the frustrated groans and protests from her admirers, all of whom were jockeying for position to do the honors, Rosalind placed her hands on Max's shoulders and allowed him to lift her
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