Read Online Swan's Grace by Linda Francis Lee - Free Book Online
Authors: Linda Francis Lee
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entertain"—she searched for a word—"
guests
right beneath my nose," she finally managed.
"Rest assured, Miss Pruitt, I would never dream of abusing your sensibilities." He came forward and put his strong arm around the woman's sturdy shoulders. "Miss Wentworth is Conrad Wentworth's daughter, and she is staying here, with chaperons"—he actually scowled at this—"while I stay at the Hotel Vendome. Now why don't you go make us some of that delicious coffee of yours."
Altima sent a sharp, accusing glare at Sophie and her attire, then pulled off her hat with swift efficiency, setting it carefully on the hat rack, before heading for the kitchen.
Sophie watched her go, then turned to Grayson. "Aren't we cordial this morning?"
Instantly she cringed at the flip tone. She had promised herself she would be nice!
"I'll do whatever it takes to keep Miss Pruitt happy." He smiled at her, an inviting smile full of warmth and mischief. "The woman types like the wind, takes dictation like a gazelle, and keeps my life organized with the quiet, unobtrusive efficiency of a queen bee in a honeycomb."
"Enough with your snappy wildlife analogies." He really did bring out the worst in her. "Who is this paragon?"
"My receptionist—though to be more specific, she is a woman I adore," he said with a grand sweep of his hand to his heart. "In short, she's the best receptionist I have ever had. And I've had a few."
"You have a receptionist? Here?" she squeaked.
"Of course. She runs my office."
"You mean your office downtown?" she prompted hopefully.
"No. I advise my clients from Swan's Grace. And I do have clients, Sophie. People who keep me solvent so I can pay those things called bills and not become the derelict you accused me of being."
He stepped close and boldly ran his fingers down the edge of the cashmere lapels, his voice deepening. "Despite what you want to think, I don't need your father's money."
His fingers stopped just before they came to her breasts. She could hardly think, much less utter a coherent word, as heat seared through her, centering low in a way she didn't understand. Could he tell that she had virtually nothing on underneath? Could he feel the way her heart began to pound?
His hands lingered, his dark-eyed gaze burning into her, and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her. But just when she would have leaned close, despite everything, he dropped his hands away. A wry smile tugged at his lips as he took in her attire. "And speaking of clients, one should be arriving any minute. Charming as you look, I'd rather they not see you in my robe."
Heat surged through her cheeks, mixing with dismay. She hardly understood what he made her feel. Desire? Panic?
With a jerk, she looked out the window at the carriages rolling by as if all were right with the world. She was so close to having the pieces of her life finally fall into place—different from how she had imagined it would be when she was a child, but still something she had created for herself. Her whole life she had dreamed of being famous, dreamed of being something more than awkward Sophie Wentworth. How many times had she envisioned herself holding court in Swan's Grace, performing in the Music Hall? Playing Bach.
She had given up Bach, replacing it with showy pieces. She had given up the dream of playing in the Music Hall, replacing it with Europe. But she couldn't replace her dream of living in the only true home she had ever known.
Grayson Hawthorne and his purchase of Swan's Grace had thrown what remained of her dreams into chaos.
But should it really matter? She had a glamorous life. People around the world adored her, would never believe she had experienced an awkward day in her life.
Her gaze shifted and ran over the black-and-white marble floor in the foyer, the stately, fluted columns, the grand sweep of stairs she had descended again and again as a child, a long linen towel attached to her shoulders trailing behind her, making her a
guests
right beneath my nose," she finally managed.
"Rest assured, Miss Pruitt, I would never dream of abusing your sensibilities." He came forward and put his strong arm around the woman's sturdy shoulders. "Miss Wentworth is Conrad Wentworth's daughter, and she is staying here, with chaperons"—he actually scowled at this—"while I stay at the Hotel Vendome. Now why don't you go make us some of that delicious coffee of yours."
Altima sent a sharp, accusing glare at Sophie and her attire, then pulled off her hat with swift efficiency, setting it carefully on the hat rack, before heading for the kitchen.
Sophie watched her go, then turned to Grayson. "Aren't we cordial this morning?"
Instantly she cringed at the flip tone. She had promised herself she would be nice!
"I'll do whatever it takes to keep Miss Pruitt happy." He smiled at her, an inviting smile full of warmth and mischief. "The woman types like the wind, takes dictation like a gazelle, and keeps my life organized with the quiet, unobtrusive efficiency of a queen bee in a honeycomb."
"Enough with your snappy wildlife analogies." He really did bring out the worst in her. "Who is this paragon?"
"My receptionist—though to be more specific, she is a woman I adore," he said with a grand sweep of his hand to his heart. "In short, she's the best receptionist I have ever had. And I've had a few."
"You have a receptionist? Here?" she squeaked.
"Of course. She runs my office."
"You mean your office downtown?" she prompted hopefully.
"No. I advise my clients from Swan's Grace. And I do have clients, Sophie. People who keep me solvent so I can pay those things called bills and not become the derelict you accused me of being."
He stepped close and boldly ran his fingers down the edge of the cashmere lapels, his voice deepening. "Despite what you want to think, I don't need your father's money."
His fingers stopped just before they came to her breasts. She could hardly think, much less utter a coherent word, as heat seared through her, centering low in a way she didn't understand. Could he tell that she had virtually nothing on underneath? Could he feel the way her heart began to pound?
His hands lingered, his dark-eyed gaze burning into her, and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her. But just when she would have leaned close, despite everything, he dropped his hands away. A wry smile tugged at his lips as he took in her attire. "And speaking of clients, one should be arriving any minute. Charming as you look, I'd rather they not see you in my robe."
Heat surged through her cheeks, mixing with dismay. She hardly understood what he made her feel. Desire? Panic?
With a jerk, she looked out the window at the carriages rolling by as if all were right with the world. She was so close to having the pieces of her life finally fall into place—different from how she had imagined it would be when she was a child, but still something she had created for herself. Her whole life she had dreamed of being famous, dreamed of being something more than awkward Sophie Wentworth. How many times had she envisioned herself holding court in Swan's Grace, performing in the Music Hall? Playing Bach.
She had given up Bach, replacing it with showy pieces. She had given up the dream of playing in the Music Hall, replacing it with Europe. But she couldn't replace her dream of living in the only true home she had ever known.
Grayson Hawthorne and his purchase of Swan's Grace had thrown what remained of her dreams into chaos.
But should it really matter? She had a glamorous life. People around the world adored her, would never believe she had experienced an awkward day in her life.
Her gaze shifted and ran over the black-and-white marble floor in the foyer, the stately, fluted columns, the grand sweep of stairs she had descended again and again as a child, a long linen towel attached to her shoulders trailing behind her, making her a
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