Read Online Seducing the Spy by Celeste Bradley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Celeste Bradley
Ads: Link
here.
Apparently she was making a fashionably late appearance. Since the performance was nearly half over, even the unpredictable Lady Alicia must surely arrive shortly.
Not surprisingly, the orchestra had just begun the next movement when the curtains parted behind Stanton and an usher bowed Lady Alicia through. Stanton stood to greet her.
She seemed startled to see him, hanging back in the shadows that overtook the rear of the box. He smiled cordially enough. She did not seem reassured. "What are you doing here?" she hissed.
"Did I not make myself clear? I am to be your escort at all times."
"You were entirely clear. I simply ignored you." She looked behind her as if contemplating a quick escape.
Stanton debated engaging in a bit of timely sarcasm, but unexpectedly felt no need. In fact, he felt inexplicably light-hearted this evening. He smiled easily at her. "You must be warm. Why don't you let me take your cape?"
She tucked the collar of the cape closer to her throat, hesitating. "I—" She pressed her lips together and gazed at him in irritation. "Oh, I simply do not care what you think!"
She abruptly stepped forward, out of the shadows and into the play of light from the stage lanterns. She dropped the cape and raised her chin defiantly.
Stanton felt his mouth go dry.
It wasn't her. It could not be her. Lady Alicia Lawrence was a blotchy, ill-kempt creature, swollen like a grape and not as appetizing.
Before him stood a faultlessly elegant lady, posed with her head high and her shoulders back, showing off a truly prepossessing figure, if one was inclined to prefer a bit of plump abundance with one's morning cup of tea…
She wouldn't be elegant in his arms. She would be earthy and untamed and shameless—
Stanton blinked. That thought had flown through his mind like an outlaw's arrow, coming from nowhere.
It wasn't her.
Yet lively cat-green eyes gleamed at him knowingly.
"You seem taken aback, my lord. And rather boring. In the last week I've spent more money than the Prince Regent's new mistress! Have you nothing to say about my accomplishment?"
She looked like a prostitute—a beautiful, opulent, extravagantly endowed prostitute with sexual fire alight in her eyes.
She was the embodiment—oh, dear God, that body!—of every man's most wicked dream.
Whose dream? Theirs… or yours?
The air came back into Stanton's lungs in a rash. "What in the seventh level of hell are you wearing?"
He hadn't meant to bellow and he certainly hadn't realized that the orchestra was just finishing the last movement, and he sure as hell hadn't meant for his question to echo through the opera house like a bass crescendo.
"Oh, well done," Alicia murmured to him.
He turned to gape down at her. She patted his arm with a pleased smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Then she stepped away from him in a dramatic flounce of skirts. "You beast!"
Again, her voice carried over the hall as if she stood on the stage itself. Every neck craned to see. A soggy sob followed, and then she turned back to him, dramatically wiping her eyes. "You horrible, cruel… man! First you seduce me, and then you denigrate me for it! "
For a horrified moment, Stanton thought she intended to throw herself to her knees at his feet, but then she seemed to realize she would no longer be visible to the people below.
To catch herself, she staggered melodramatically, then teetered as she raised the back of one hand to her brow. "I cannot go on this way," she wailed. "I love you so, no matter how cruel you are to me—"
Stanton wasn't entirely sure how it happened. Perhaps she became too caught up in her own performance, or perhaps it was the trailing skirts of the elaborate gown, but suddenly Alicia lurched sideways, hit the balustrade with her hip, and then began to tip over the railing of the box.
Still shocked motionless with dismay at her public theatrics, Stanton almost didn't react quickly enough. It was only when she shot a surprised and
Apparently she was making a fashionably late appearance. Since the performance was nearly half over, even the unpredictable Lady Alicia must surely arrive shortly.
Not surprisingly, the orchestra had just begun the next movement when the curtains parted behind Stanton and an usher bowed Lady Alicia through. Stanton stood to greet her.
She seemed startled to see him, hanging back in the shadows that overtook the rear of the box. He smiled cordially enough. She did not seem reassured. "What are you doing here?" she hissed.
"Did I not make myself clear? I am to be your escort at all times."
"You were entirely clear. I simply ignored you." She looked behind her as if contemplating a quick escape.
Stanton debated engaging in a bit of timely sarcasm, but unexpectedly felt no need. In fact, he felt inexplicably light-hearted this evening. He smiled easily at her. "You must be warm. Why don't you let me take your cape?"
She tucked the collar of the cape closer to her throat, hesitating. "I—" She pressed her lips together and gazed at him in irritation. "Oh, I simply do not care what you think!"
She abruptly stepped forward, out of the shadows and into the play of light from the stage lanterns. She dropped the cape and raised her chin defiantly.
Stanton felt his mouth go dry.
It wasn't her. It could not be her. Lady Alicia Lawrence was a blotchy, ill-kempt creature, swollen like a grape and not as appetizing.
Before him stood a faultlessly elegant lady, posed with her head high and her shoulders back, showing off a truly prepossessing figure, if one was inclined to prefer a bit of plump abundance with one's morning cup of tea…
She wouldn't be elegant in his arms. She would be earthy and untamed and shameless—
Stanton blinked. That thought had flown through his mind like an outlaw's arrow, coming from nowhere.
It wasn't her.
Yet lively cat-green eyes gleamed at him knowingly.
"You seem taken aback, my lord. And rather boring. In the last week I've spent more money than the Prince Regent's new mistress! Have you nothing to say about my accomplishment?"
She looked like a prostitute—a beautiful, opulent, extravagantly endowed prostitute with sexual fire alight in her eyes.
She was the embodiment—oh, dear God, that body!—of every man's most wicked dream.
Whose dream? Theirs… or yours?
The air came back into Stanton's lungs in a rash. "What in the seventh level of hell are you wearing?"
He hadn't meant to bellow and he certainly hadn't realized that the orchestra was just finishing the last movement, and he sure as hell hadn't meant for his question to echo through the opera house like a bass crescendo.
"Oh, well done," Alicia murmured to him.
He turned to gape down at her. She patted his arm with a pleased smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Then she stepped away from him in a dramatic flounce of skirts. "You beast!"
Again, her voice carried over the hall as if she stood on the stage itself. Every neck craned to see. A soggy sob followed, and then she turned back to him, dramatically wiping her eyes. "You horrible, cruel… man! First you seduce me, and then you denigrate me for it! "
For a horrified moment, Stanton thought she intended to throw herself to her knees at his feet, but then she seemed to realize she would no longer be visible to the people below.
To catch herself, she staggered melodramatically, then teetered as she raised the back of one hand to her brow. "I cannot go on this way," she wailed. "I love you so, no matter how cruel you are to me—"
Stanton wasn't entirely sure how it happened. Perhaps she became too caught up in her own performance, or perhaps it was the trailing skirts of the elaborate gown, but suddenly Alicia lurched sideways, hit the balustrade with her hip, and then began to tip over the railing of the box.
Still shocked motionless with dismay at her public theatrics, Stanton almost didn't react quickly enough. It was only when she shot a surprised and
Similar Books
