Read Online Miss Quinn's Quandary by Shirley Marks - Free Book Online Page B

about you, my lady.” He straightened enough
to meet her eyes. “All favorable, I assure you,” he added with a savory smile.
    “I see charm runs in your family, Rushton,” she murmured to the
earl and pulled her hand free. The dowager extended her arm, indicating Larissa
next to her. “Sir Randall, may I present my niece, Miss Larissa Quinn.”
    Randall gave an easy smile. “Charmed, Miss Quinn.”
    “How nice to see you, Sir Randall.” She dropped into the
shallowest of curtsies.
    However, it was evident to Randall she had not meant her kind
words.
    “I thought I would not again have the pleasure.”
    A fleeting look at his uncle and the dowager told Randall they
were in a world of their own. Randall drew Larissa aside, allowing the couple
their privacy. “No need to flatter yourself. I am here strictly on my uncle’s
behalf.”
    “And I only tolerate you because of my aunt’s happiness.”
    “You never told me your aunt is a viscountess .”
    “You never told me your uncle is an earl.” Larissa glanced at her
blissful aunt and turned back to Randall. “There is no need to treat me like
some unwelcome distant relative.”
    “If my uncle has his way that is exactly what you will become.”
    Randall eyed his uncle, lost to the current of love that was
pulling him farther and farther into its persuasive grasp. The viscountess , it seemed, was equally lost.
    “He means to marry her.” Randall sighed.
    A whimsical smile brightened Larissa’s face. “Does he?”
    “And to that end, I have promised to escort you to the ball
following the opera.”
    “You need not concern yourself in that quarter. I have a
qualified companion.”
    No doubt she referred to that overpuffed pigeon, Fenton. “Who chooses to, or not to, pay you court is none of my concern.”
    “You speak those words with such ease. However,” she smiled, “the
green pallor of your face is clashing horribly with the blue of your jacket.”
    “Me? Jealous? Don’t flatter yourself.”
    “It is you who flatters yourself.” Larissa sat in her chair,
demonstrating, she was at ease. “You must think highly of yourself if you think
I’m concerned whether you care for me.” She folded her arms in front of her and
turned away from him, presenting her profile.
    “No higher than you think of yourself, I’m certain.” Randall
crossed his arms and pivoted in the opposite direction, displaying his profile
in hostility.
    He need not accept this type of behavior from her. Randall was
doing her a favor by assuming the responsibility of an escort. He could be just
as obstinate as she. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed she did not move
one iota. Therefore, he held his pose. He schooled his features into placid
granite, refusing to soften.
    “Oh look, Rushton,” the viscountess pointed at Larissa and Randall. “The children are playing. Persephone and Hades
at odds, are they not?”
    Rushton shrugged and followed her as she moved to the posing pair
for a closer study.
    Hades, indeed, Randall mused. “We should be going, Uncle.”
Randall broke form. “The second act should be starting any moment.”
    Rushton took the dowager’s hand in his and brought it to his
lips. “Adieu, my lady, until we meet at the ball.”
    “Of course, my lord,” she replied. To Randall she seemed somewhat
distracted. “I have it!” The viscountess whirled to
face the exiting guests. “Deucalion and Pyrrha ,
surveying Parnassus.”
    Randall eased back into his chair. Uncle Cyrus took a seat in the
front row of the box. Struggling to fend off the hold of Morpheus, Randall
glanced around. Most of the upper boxes still stood empty, and would remain so
until nearly the end of the evening.
    He observed Viscountess Claiborne in
her box. On stage was the poignant scene where the hero, of whom the heroine’s
father disapproved, expressed his love. Opera glasses poised in front of the
dowager’s eyes. She leaned forward to catch every note, to see every
expression,