Read Online Romantic Rebel by Joan Smith - Free Book Online Page B

my throat, which were genuine and not small. “I trust you will not feel obliged to succumb to all of Mrs. Speers’s idiosyncracies.”
    “Neither gin nor Madame de Stael are amongst my weaknesses.” This talk of weaknesses recalled to mind a certain Angelina, and a pair of cream ponies. I lifted a brow and said archly, “But perhaps we ought not to harp on weaknesses. We are none of us perfect, I think?”
    His bland smile revealed nothing. If my shot hit home, it delivered no pain whatsoever upon impact. “Very true. I have never been at all good at geometry,” he said. “My whist is only passable, and I am considered an indifferent hunter by my friends. Those are my more outstanding defects. Will you reciprocate, Miss Nesbitt, and caution me of your imperfections? You will note my subtlety. I do not accuse a lady of actual weaknesses.”
    “Nothing to speak of. A touch of imperfection perhaps in six of the seven deadly sins. I acquit myself of gluttony.”
    He listened, smiling remotely. “But not the others—pride, covetousness, lust ...”
    “Good gracious! I was only joking!”
    “I like a sense of humor in a lady. I think you and I are going to become very good friends, Miss Nesbitt.”
    This speech had something of the air of conferring a favor. It is hard to say just what accounted for it, unless it was the implicit assumption that my friendship was available for the taking. Perhaps it was Lord Paton’s wealth and superior position in life that were to blame for his attitude, but my backbone stiffened, and my reply revealed nothing of the sense of humor recently conferred on me.
    “Your friends require a sense of humor, do they?”
    “Not at all. I am ridiculous enough to lure a smile from a Methodist, but you must own a glowering woman is no blessing to anyone.”
    “No, nor a glowering man either.”
    “I seldom glower, unless driven to extremity. It takes some such catastrophe as losing my fortune at cards, or a badly set cravat to put me out of sorts. Usually I am a model of smiling idiocy. But you must judge me after you have had time to see whether we suit. Shall we say tomorrow, around three-thirty, for a spin into the country?”
    When I lifted the teapot to refill our cups, I had other things on my mind than the pouring. Lord Paton appeared interested in me, and quite apart from the literary doors he might open, he was an excellent parti. His physical person was attractive, and he was amusing. There was no earthly reason to refuse.
    “I have usually finished my writing by three. Three-thirty will be fine.”
    Then I noticed he was paying close attention to the pouring, “That was admirably done,” he congratulated me. “Wherever you learned to pour tea, you do it with a ladylike air.”
    “I should hope so! I was not reared in the gutter, you know.”
    “You don’t belong in an attic either, Miss Nesbitt. Pray, don’t be angry that I have been poking my nose a little into your situation. I was interested in you from the moment we met.”
    It was hard to be angry at such a statement as that. In fact, I felt quite giddy with astonishment. “You have an odd way of showing it, sir. Two weeks have elapsed since first we met, and you have not called on me. If we had not chanced to meet here this evening, I doubt I would ever have seen you again.”
    “Now, there you are mistaken. I was not in a position to—to pursue the acquaintance at that time. I had some—er, personal affairs to tidy up. The two weeks have been used in paving the way for our friendship.”
    It seemed impossible that Lord Paton should blush and stammer like a schoolgirl, but blush and stammer he did. The personal affairs I immediately concluded were Angelina and her cream ponies. He had turned off his flirt. This sounded like serious business.
    When he looked at me, I felt as though he was reading my mind. It was a deep, probing gaze, full of meaning. “You know what I am referring to, I think?” he asked.
    “How