Read Online Miss Pymbroke's Rules by Rosemary Stevens - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rosemary Stevens
Tags: Regency Romance
Ads: Link
not Louisa’s intention, she was flaunting her looks.
Her expression troubled, Verity reached the bottom of the stairs. She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts, she had failed to notice the Marquess of Carrisworth standing in the hall watching her, a shimmer of amusement visible in his eyes.
“Good evening. Miss Pymbroke. What an interesting choice of gown for the theater.”
Any response Verity might have made died unspoken on her lips. Her eyes widened in astonishment because Lord Carrisworth stood before her in all the glory of his evening clothes.
A charcoal-gray coat fit his athletic body to perfection. His cravat was a sculptured miracle of snow-white cloth. A large emerald, which Verity thought paled in comparison with his lordship’s green eyes, nestled in its folds. A figured white waistcoat and black silk breeches completed the picture of aristocratic elegance.
Lady Hyacinth’s and Betty’s words about the marquess being handsome floated across her brain. Verity’s eyes met Lord Carrisworth’s and she held his gaze, swallowing hard.
Very well, then. This was to be a challenge to the high moral standards she embraced. Her resolve strengthened. Tonight, at the playhouse, she would show Lord Carrisworth how little his devastating good looks affected her. She raised her chin.
His lordship’s gaze abruptly swung to the staircase. He made his bow to Louisa, smiling pleasantly. “You do not look at all tired from your journey, Mrs. Barrington.”
Louisa determined to ignore the weakness of this compliment and set herself to flirting with Lord Carrisworth during the journey to the theater, a circumstance the marquess seemed to accept with cool equanimity.
Verity endured the drive; her arms folded across her chest, and stared out into the dark night. It would be her responsibility to apprise her sister of his lordship’s nature. Of course, having only just arrived in Town, Louisa could not be expected to know of the marquess’s wicked ways.
Lord Carrisworth had determined Louisa to be that most dangerous female, a widow on the prowl for a husband. He was relieved when, arriving at the Theatre Royal, he noticed his friend. Sir Ramsey. “Randy! Care to join my party? Let me make you known to these two charming ladies.”
Sir Ramsey made an elegant bow while his puzzled gaze ran over Verity’s gown and coiffure. His hazel eyes brightened, however, when they rested on Mrs. Barrington. He offered her his arm immediately and engaged her in a conversation about her travels.
As the marquess had hoped, Louisa recovered at once from his own lack of interest under the flattering attentions of Sir Ramsey. The two trailed behind, having to stop when Louisa discovered she had dropped her fan.
Thus, Verity and Lord Carrisworth entered his box alone. The marquess had wisely timed their arrival after the often bawdy one-act play that usually preceded a Shakespearean tragedy.
But he had not spared a thought for Society’s reaction to seeing London’s premier rake accompanied by such a Puritan-looking female. Quizzing glasses were raised. Opera glasses were trained on the pair. Some young bucks went so far as to stand on their chairs, hoping for a better view.
Surely a man who had kept a string of dashing highflyers and was currently the protector of two mistresses who were twins, a four-bottle man, a man unerringly blessed with luck at Fortune’s sportive wheel and whose horses could trot against anything alive, would have no real interest in a woman like the one at his side.
As fans fluttered and whispering reached a peak, the general consensus was the Marquess of Carrisworth was roasting them.
Standing next to him, Verity felt miserable for the marquess. She was certain all the attention being given them was due to those dreadful lampoons circulating. Even though his lordship had brought the censure on himself, she found her tender heart touched with sympathy at his humiliation.
She turned to him, her
Her expression troubled, Verity reached the bottom of the stairs. She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts, she had failed to notice the Marquess of Carrisworth standing in the hall watching her, a shimmer of amusement visible in his eyes.
“Good evening. Miss Pymbroke. What an interesting choice of gown for the theater.”
Any response Verity might have made died unspoken on her lips. Her eyes widened in astonishment because Lord Carrisworth stood before her in all the glory of his evening clothes.
A charcoal-gray coat fit his athletic body to perfection. His cravat was a sculptured miracle of snow-white cloth. A large emerald, which Verity thought paled in comparison with his lordship’s green eyes, nestled in its folds. A figured white waistcoat and black silk breeches completed the picture of aristocratic elegance.
Lady Hyacinth’s and Betty’s words about the marquess being handsome floated across her brain. Verity’s eyes met Lord Carrisworth’s and she held his gaze, swallowing hard.
Very well, then. This was to be a challenge to the high moral standards she embraced. Her resolve strengthened. Tonight, at the playhouse, she would show Lord Carrisworth how little his devastating good looks affected her. She raised her chin.
His lordship’s gaze abruptly swung to the staircase. He made his bow to Louisa, smiling pleasantly. “You do not look at all tired from your journey, Mrs. Barrington.”
Louisa determined to ignore the weakness of this compliment and set herself to flirting with Lord Carrisworth during the journey to the theater, a circumstance the marquess seemed to accept with cool equanimity.
Verity endured the drive; her arms folded across her chest, and stared out into the dark night. It would be her responsibility to apprise her sister of his lordship’s nature. Of course, having only just arrived in Town, Louisa could not be expected to know of the marquess’s wicked ways.
Lord Carrisworth had determined Louisa to be that most dangerous female, a widow on the prowl for a husband. He was relieved when, arriving at the Theatre Royal, he noticed his friend. Sir Ramsey. “Randy! Care to join my party? Let me make you known to these two charming ladies.”
Sir Ramsey made an elegant bow while his puzzled gaze ran over Verity’s gown and coiffure. His hazel eyes brightened, however, when they rested on Mrs. Barrington. He offered her his arm immediately and engaged her in a conversation about her travels.
As the marquess had hoped, Louisa recovered at once from his own lack of interest under the flattering attentions of Sir Ramsey. The two trailed behind, having to stop when Louisa discovered she had dropped her fan.
Thus, Verity and Lord Carrisworth entered his box alone. The marquess had wisely timed their arrival after the often bawdy one-act play that usually preceded a Shakespearean tragedy.
But he had not spared a thought for Society’s reaction to seeing London’s premier rake accompanied by such a Puritan-looking female. Quizzing glasses were raised. Opera glasses were trained on the pair. Some young bucks went so far as to stand on their chairs, hoping for a better view.
Surely a man who had kept a string of dashing highflyers and was currently the protector of two mistresses who were twins, a four-bottle man, a man unerringly blessed with luck at Fortune’s sportive wheel and whose horses could trot against anything alive, would have no real interest in a woman like the one at his side.
As fans fluttered and whispering reached a peak, the general consensus was the Marquess of Carrisworth was roasting them.
Standing next to him, Verity felt miserable for the marquess. She was certain all the attention being given them was due to those dreadful lampoons circulating. Even though his lordship had brought the censure on himself, she found her tender heart touched with sympathy at his humiliation.
She turned to him, her
Similar Books
