Read Online So Enchanting by Connie Brockway - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Connie Brockway
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fresh offers, and Fanny was grateful for that. It provided an opportunity to speak to someone new. And they always came for dinner, allowing Amelie and her to dust off their rusty social skills. Well, Fanny amended, it allowed her to dust off rusty skills. It allowed Amelie to develop some.
“No. Not this time,” Bernard said, smoothing back his hair.
Amelie’s eyes grew round. “No? Don’t tease me so, Mr. McGowan. Do tell! Who are they then?”
“ ‘They,’ ” said an amused male voice from behind them, “are Lord Grey Sheffield and Lord Hayden Collier.”
Amelie spun around, and Fanny followed suit. A handsome gentleman in an elegant lounging jacket stood inside the doorway, as well-knit as a young Apollo, his dark gold curls accentuating his hazel eyes, a cleft denting his strong chin. A dimple appeared in his smooth-shaven cheek as he smiled at her.
In contrast, the tall, broad-shouldered gentleman beside him looked as blasted and heavily muscled as Mars at his smithy. His black hair needed cutting, and his bold-featured, saturnine face stood in need of a shave. The only things pretty about him were his eyes: bright blue-green.
As pretty as they’d been six years ago, Fanny thought, and just as hard.
Chapter Seven
Fanny closed her eyes, praying they were deceiving her. The man who’d driven her from society could not be standing here in the company of a young man who simple deduction led her to suppose was Lord Collier ’s son. How many Lord Colliers with legal wards named Amelie Chase could there be? She opened her eyes.
God help her, there he stubbornly remained, still looking like thunder personified, big, broad, and powerful, his tousled black hair shot with charcoal gray, his rough-hewn features bold and arrogant. All he needed was a hammer and a bolt of lightning.
She had to leave before he recognized her. She’d spent six years re-creating herself. Surely Sheffield’s presence here represented some breach of divine sportsmanship?
Her heart racing, Fanny slipped to Amelie’s far side, away from where Sheffield loomed.
“Lord Hayden,” Bernard said, shaking the younger man’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Bernard McGowan, and I owe your father a debt of gratitude, for he has entrusted my bank with a portion of Miss Chase’s inheritance. He mentioned you in one of his letters.”
She’d been right. Hayden was Amelie’s guardian’s son.
Bernard released Lord Hayden’s hand and smiled at Sheffield. “And Lord Sheffield. It’s an honor, sir. Even in Edinburgh we hear of your exploits.”
Now, while everyone was otherwise engaged, she could mutter something about an errand and disappear. “Amelie,” she whispered. “Amelie, we must go. Now.”
She tugged on Amelie’s hand, but the girl wouldn’t budge. She was too busy staring at the young blond lordling with the sort of starry-eyed vacuousness that would make a rabbit look intelligent. Her eyes glowed, her cheeks glowed, her hair glowed. . . . God help her, the girl looked like she’d been dipped in Balmain’s luminous paint.
“Amelie. Amelie ,” Fanny hissed.
Bernard heard her. “Ah, excuse me! Mrs. Walcott, allow me to introduce Lord Greyson Sheffield and Lord Hayden Collier.”
There was no help for it. She stepped forward like a soldier being brought before a firing squad, forcing herself to meet Lord Sheffield’s arctic gaze and . . . and . . . the world fell away, time stopped, and her heartbeat slowed in her chest to a single tolling beat.
She tried to look away but she was caught, held motionless in a blue-green gaze while around her the world continued spinning. Dimly, she heard others speaking, but she couldn’t have repeated a word of what they said.
Time protracted and the chill assessment in his eyes thawed, leaving behind confusion. Vaguely, she noticed him frowning and tugging his shirt cuff up and laying his fingertips against the inside of his
“No. Not this time,” Bernard said, smoothing back his hair.
Amelie’s eyes grew round. “No? Don’t tease me so, Mr. McGowan. Do tell! Who are they then?”
“ ‘They,’ ” said an amused male voice from behind them, “are Lord Grey Sheffield and Lord Hayden Collier.”
Amelie spun around, and Fanny followed suit. A handsome gentleman in an elegant lounging jacket stood inside the doorway, as well-knit as a young Apollo, his dark gold curls accentuating his hazel eyes, a cleft denting his strong chin. A dimple appeared in his smooth-shaven cheek as he smiled at her.
In contrast, the tall, broad-shouldered gentleman beside him looked as blasted and heavily muscled as Mars at his smithy. His black hair needed cutting, and his bold-featured, saturnine face stood in need of a shave. The only things pretty about him were his eyes: bright blue-green.
As pretty as they’d been six years ago, Fanny thought, and just as hard.
Chapter Seven
Fanny closed her eyes, praying they were deceiving her. The man who’d driven her from society could not be standing here in the company of a young man who simple deduction led her to suppose was Lord Collier ’s son. How many Lord Colliers with legal wards named Amelie Chase could there be? She opened her eyes.
God help her, there he stubbornly remained, still looking like thunder personified, big, broad, and powerful, his tousled black hair shot with charcoal gray, his rough-hewn features bold and arrogant. All he needed was a hammer and a bolt of lightning.
She had to leave before he recognized her. She’d spent six years re-creating herself. Surely Sheffield’s presence here represented some breach of divine sportsmanship?
Her heart racing, Fanny slipped to Amelie’s far side, away from where Sheffield loomed.
“Lord Hayden,” Bernard said, shaking the younger man’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Bernard McGowan, and I owe your father a debt of gratitude, for he has entrusted my bank with a portion of Miss Chase’s inheritance. He mentioned you in one of his letters.”
She’d been right. Hayden was Amelie’s guardian’s son.
Bernard released Lord Hayden’s hand and smiled at Sheffield. “And Lord Sheffield. It’s an honor, sir. Even in Edinburgh we hear of your exploits.”
Now, while everyone was otherwise engaged, she could mutter something about an errand and disappear. “Amelie,” she whispered. “Amelie, we must go. Now.”
She tugged on Amelie’s hand, but the girl wouldn’t budge. She was too busy staring at the young blond lordling with the sort of starry-eyed vacuousness that would make a rabbit look intelligent. Her eyes glowed, her cheeks glowed, her hair glowed. . . . God help her, the girl looked like she’d been dipped in Balmain’s luminous paint.
“Amelie. Amelie ,” Fanny hissed.
Bernard heard her. “Ah, excuse me! Mrs. Walcott, allow me to introduce Lord Greyson Sheffield and Lord Hayden Collier.”
There was no help for it. She stepped forward like a soldier being brought before a firing squad, forcing herself to meet Lord Sheffield’s arctic gaze and . . . and . . . the world fell away, time stopped, and her heartbeat slowed in her chest to a single tolling beat.
She tried to look away but she was caught, held motionless in a blue-green gaze while around her the world continued spinning. Dimly, she heard others speaking, but she couldn’t have repeated a word of what they said.
Time protracted and the chill assessment in his eyes thawed, leaving behind confusion. Vaguely, she noticed him frowning and tugging his shirt cuff up and laying his fingertips against the inside of his
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