Read Online Most Eagerly Yours by Allison Chase - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Allison Chase
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doubted it, and Beatrice’s attitude surprised him. He would have predicted much stronger objections on her part, along with a hearty contempt for anyone gullible enough to believe in magical potions.
“Have you sampled it?” he asked, as though the matter were of little consequence to him.
“Not yet. Having only recently arrived in Bath myself, I am not on the list.”
“The list again.” Aidan craned his neck to see over heads. “Is Rousseau here tonight?”
“Goodness, no, darling. He never comes to events such as these. You’ll find him at the theater, concerts, the occasional private soiree. He’s far too scholarly for dancing,” she added with a roll of her eyes. Lifting her hand from his shoulder, she bobbed her closed fan in greeting to someone off to their right. A smile blossoming, she said, “There is that new friend I mentioned. The one with whom I shared my coach on the way here.”
“Oh?” He tried to sound interested, but he hadn’t come to learn about Beatrice’s latest social acquisition.
“There, dancing with Raymond Ashley.” She used her fan to point. “The delicious- looking young lady in the amber gown.”
Aidan rotated with her again and spotted their mutual acquaintance, a thick- limbed, bull-faced man several years his junior. Ashley turned with his partner, and the woman in the amber gown came into view.
The air rushed out of him. Delicious? By heaven, yes, luscious enough to eat. She was golden- haired without quite being blond; her porcelain skin glowed with a country-fresh ripeness, her green eyes with a springtime crispness.
He found himself staring, first out of pure admiration, and then with a vague sense of . . . familiarity.
But surely he would remember encountering a face as beautiful as that. His gaze was drawn to her mouth, to lips as lush as ripe raspberries. Awareness, he’d even call it recognition, danced across his own lips, as if his mouth had once sampled the touch and taste of hers—
“Caught your eye, has she?” Beatrice’s rippling laughter mocked him. “I thought she might, but I fear you would only be wasting your time. She is very recently out of mourning, which makes her highly available on that marriage mart you seem so intent on avoiding. More to the point, I’d say she is rather too inexperienced to be your type.”
“Who is she?”
Beatrice laughed again. “Mrs. Edgar Sanderson.”
“That means nothing to me. Where did you say you found her?”
“I didn’t, but it was at the Pump Room yesterday. You really should stop staring. You’ll crimp your neck.”
But he could not draw his gaze away from her. While her height exceeded that of most of the women in the room, she moved with an effortlessness that somehow reduced poor Ashley to an ungainly jumble of heavy limbs and oafish feet utterly out of step with the music.
Recognition continued to prickle across his shoulders, down his back. Something about the silhouette of her figure and the curve of her slender neck as she glanced up at her partner brought a blaze of certainty that he had once held her in similar fashion, her lovely features tilted just so beneath his own.
A memory, or merely wishful thinking?
“What is her given name?”
“Hmm.” Beatrice pursed her lips. “No, I believe I shall leave that for you to discover, if you can.”
“Challenge accepted. I’ll have her name by the next set.”
“I am afraid not. Her dance card is full. Major Melrose saw to that.”
“Damn the man, but that has never stopped me before.”
“I wish you luck.” The waltz ending, Beatrice kissed his cheek and went in search of her brother.
Aidan continued observing the mysterious Mrs. Sanderson as she progressed through the next several names on her dance card. He knew each of her partners, had seen each successfully maneuver on many a dance floor. What about this particular woman rendered these men half-lame in comparison?
And yet they kept coming, practically lining up
“Have you sampled it?” he asked, as though the matter were of little consequence to him.
“Not yet. Having only recently arrived in Bath myself, I am not on the list.”
“The list again.” Aidan craned his neck to see over heads. “Is Rousseau here tonight?”
“Goodness, no, darling. He never comes to events such as these. You’ll find him at the theater, concerts, the occasional private soiree. He’s far too scholarly for dancing,” she added with a roll of her eyes. Lifting her hand from his shoulder, she bobbed her closed fan in greeting to someone off to their right. A smile blossoming, she said, “There is that new friend I mentioned. The one with whom I shared my coach on the way here.”
“Oh?” He tried to sound interested, but he hadn’t come to learn about Beatrice’s latest social acquisition.
“There, dancing with Raymond Ashley.” She used her fan to point. “The delicious- looking young lady in the amber gown.”
Aidan rotated with her again and spotted their mutual acquaintance, a thick- limbed, bull-faced man several years his junior. Ashley turned with his partner, and the woman in the amber gown came into view.
The air rushed out of him. Delicious? By heaven, yes, luscious enough to eat. She was golden- haired without quite being blond; her porcelain skin glowed with a country-fresh ripeness, her green eyes with a springtime crispness.
He found himself staring, first out of pure admiration, and then with a vague sense of . . . familiarity.
But surely he would remember encountering a face as beautiful as that. His gaze was drawn to her mouth, to lips as lush as ripe raspberries. Awareness, he’d even call it recognition, danced across his own lips, as if his mouth had once sampled the touch and taste of hers—
“Caught your eye, has she?” Beatrice’s rippling laughter mocked him. “I thought she might, but I fear you would only be wasting your time. She is very recently out of mourning, which makes her highly available on that marriage mart you seem so intent on avoiding. More to the point, I’d say she is rather too inexperienced to be your type.”
“Who is she?”
Beatrice laughed again. “Mrs. Edgar Sanderson.”
“That means nothing to me. Where did you say you found her?”
“I didn’t, but it was at the Pump Room yesterday. You really should stop staring. You’ll crimp your neck.”
But he could not draw his gaze away from her. While her height exceeded that of most of the women in the room, she moved with an effortlessness that somehow reduced poor Ashley to an ungainly jumble of heavy limbs and oafish feet utterly out of step with the music.
Recognition continued to prickle across his shoulders, down his back. Something about the silhouette of her figure and the curve of her slender neck as she glanced up at her partner brought a blaze of certainty that he had once held her in similar fashion, her lovely features tilted just so beneath his own.
A memory, or merely wishful thinking?
“What is her given name?”
“Hmm.” Beatrice pursed her lips. “No, I believe I shall leave that for you to discover, if you can.”
“Challenge accepted. I’ll have her name by the next set.”
“I am afraid not. Her dance card is full. Major Melrose saw to that.”
“Damn the man, but that has never stopped me before.”
“I wish you luck.” The waltz ending, Beatrice kissed his cheek and went in search of her brother.
Aidan continued observing the mysterious Mrs. Sanderson as she progressed through the next several names on her dance card. He knew each of her partners, had seen each successfully maneuver on many a dance floor. What about this particular woman rendered these men half-lame in comparison?
And yet they kept coming, practically lining up
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