Read Online Seduced by a Spy by Andrea Pickens - Free Book Online Page B

bunk. “If we can’t converse, then might I at least ask you to read aloud?”
    “I doubt you would like the story. It offers a scathing satire on male pride.”
    He angled a glance at the title. “And female prejudice, for in truth both sexes are skewered with the same ruthless wit.”
    Surprised, Shannon looked up. “You are familiar with Miss Austen’s works.”
    “As a matter of fact I find her observations on society immensely entertaining.”
    She wondered if he was merely making sport of her as he added, “Miss Elizabeth Bennett reminds me a little of you. A bold young lady, unbowed by conventional expectations, unafraid of standing her ground.”
    Shannon felt an odd fluttering in her fingertips.
    “Would you agree that her one fault may be her tendency to rush to judgment?”
    Her gaze fell back to the book. “I—I should not wish to venture an opinion until I have finished.”
    “Ah. A wise strategy.” Lacing his hands behind his head, Orlov closed his eyes. “Then let me not keep you from enjoying the story.”
    Shannon turned the page. “Oh, very well,” she muttered. “‘
There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well . .
.’”
    Orlov settled back against his pillow, enjoying the play of light over her face as she read. Like the story, her features offered a compelling play of nuanced emotions. He found himself even more intrigued by her expressions than by Miss Austen’s words. For all her beguiling character, Elizabeth Bennett was no match for the flesh-and-blood female who was sharing his cramped quarters. He was acutely aware of her, though she edged her stool as far away from his berth as possible. Heat prickled across the narrow sliver of space.
    She was still angry. He had come to recognize the subtle signs of her ire—the tilt of her chin, the flare of her gaze, the exact crimson shade of her flush. However ungentlemanly it was to admit it, he had gone out of his way to provoke her. He liked her show of fighting spirit. He imagined she would not back down from a duel with Satan himself, if the devil dared to displease her.
    “Am I boring you?” Shannon looked up abruptly.
    “You are a great many things, but never boring, my dear.”
    Her eyes flashed like daggerpoints.
    “Before you take offense, allow me to say that I meant it as a compliment.”
    “I would rather you keep your flirtations to yourself,” she replied. “Along with your hands.”
    He cocked his head. “What are you afraid of?”
    “Not you,” she shot back. “Nor any man.”
    “No,” he agreed. “I would guess that your own inner demons are a far more dangerous opponent.”
    Shannon laughed, but its echo sounded a bit hollow against the oak planking. “The opium has addled your wits, sir. You are talking nonsense.”
    “Then why are your cheeks turning such a delightful shade of pink?”
    “Because you would test the patience of a saint. And God knows, I have little heavenly tolerance. I am not known for suffering fools gladly.”
    “I can well imagine that you have a temper,” he murmured. “And a short fuse to setting it off.”
    His comment sparked a snort. “Bloody hell.” She kicked back from the chart table, but could not stalk more than several strides before coming up against the door. Spinning around in frustration, she flung herself onto her own berth. “Imagine what you wish. Since you seem to prefer your own fantasies to Miss Austen’s fiction, I won’t bother to keep on reading aloud.”
    Orlov immediately regretted that his teasing had caused her to lapse into an angry silence. He had been enjoying the melody of her voice more than he cared to admit. It had a lushness to it—like her hair, it reminded him of sun-dappled honey, rich with a nuanced texture and hue.
    Swallowing a sardonic reply, he said softly, “Forgive me. I should not vent my own foul temper on you. If I promise to refrain from further interruption, might I ask you to