Read Online Tempted by a Lady’s Smile by Christi Caldwell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christi Caldwell
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believe it bore repeating a third time and, yet, for the lady’s benefit he nodded anyway.
She leaned up on tiptoe and peered at him. He shifted under her focus. Did she believe his profession should be stamped on his skin? Then, she smiled. A genuine grin devoid of mockery and, instead, full of wonder. “A horse breeder.”
That truth had been met with either disdain or disinterest from ladies of the peerage through the years. He didn’t know what to make of this slow, approving smile that, by the sheer honesty of it, contradicted all his earliest misgivings and suspicions of Miss Gemma Reed.
He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable with seeing her in any way other than the title-hunting schemer who sought to maneuver a meeting with Westfield. For if he’d been wrong about the lady in this regard, then she became a person he…well, a person he could very well like. Richard smoothed his palms down the front lapels of his jacket. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said stiffly. “I will leave you now.” He made a bow. “It was not my intention to force you to suffer through my presence any more than you already have.” He turned on his heel and started from the copse.
“Wait.” her softly spoken request brought him to a stop.
*
From their first meeting, with all the confounded, inexplicable fluttering caused by his kiss aside, Mr. Richard Jonas had been…well, a proverbial thorn in her side. A gentleman who, with his mocking grin and baiting, she really hadn’t much liked. As such, she’d quickly judged his whisperings in her ear a short while ago at the breakfast table as an effort to mock her. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d been…why goodness, he’d been trying to rescue her from abject humiliation.
He wheeled about to face her. This man she hadn’t much liked and she now stared at him through newly opened eyes. Towering over her and with his sharply chiseled features, he was, despite her first and hastily formed opinion—really quite handsome. Which mattered not as much as the discovery of this new and unexpected kindness in the gentleman. Richard arched a chestnut eyebrow up.
A guilty flush suffused her cheeks and she scuffed the earth with the tip of her boot. “I was of an erroneous opinion.” How coolly polite that sounded. She cleared her throat. “I believed you were making light of me and reacted defensively, and for that, I apologize.” How was it that she, who was singularly unable to string together two sentences amidst Polite Society, should speak so unabashedly before this man?
He took a step in her direction. There should have been an unease in being alone in his presence. Though a friend of Lord Westfield, she knew Richard Jonas not at all beyond a handful of meetings. Still, for that, there was an ease in being around him that she’d never experienced with any other gentleman. “And I judged you also in unfairness.”
His words yanked her from her inexplicable musings. “Mr. J—Richard,” she amended at the piercing gaze he trained on her.
“Given the purpose of the duke’s summer party and your own attempts to secure a private meeting with Westfield, I gathered your intentions were driven by nothing more than an interest in that respective title.” The wind whipped her hair and that recalcitrant strand danced before her eyes. He took in that limp lock a moment. “It has become apparent that I was incorrect in my suppositions and for that, I apologize,” he murmured. He closed the distance between them and the intense glint in his gray eyes momentarily stole her breath.
“I—”
He shot a hand out and with that slight movement went coherent thought. Richard collected that strand of hair and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, and there was such a beautifully sweet intimacy in that almost caress. For she, who’d long bemoaned the dullness of the hopelessly flat, refusing to curl, strands, felt almost beautiful for them in that moment. Then, as though
She leaned up on tiptoe and peered at him. He shifted under her focus. Did she believe his profession should be stamped on his skin? Then, she smiled. A genuine grin devoid of mockery and, instead, full of wonder. “A horse breeder.”
That truth had been met with either disdain or disinterest from ladies of the peerage through the years. He didn’t know what to make of this slow, approving smile that, by the sheer honesty of it, contradicted all his earliest misgivings and suspicions of Miss Gemma Reed.
He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable with seeing her in any way other than the title-hunting schemer who sought to maneuver a meeting with Westfield. For if he’d been wrong about the lady in this regard, then she became a person he…well, a person he could very well like. Richard smoothed his palms down the front lapels of his jacket. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said stiffly. “I will leave you now.” He made a bow. “It was not my intention to force you to suffer through my presence any more than you already have.” He turned on his heel and started from the copse.
“Wait.” her softly spoken request brought him to a stop.
*
From their first meeting, with all the confounded, inexplicable fluttering caused by his kiss aside, Mr. Richard Jonas had been…well, a proverbial thorn in her side. A gentleman who, with his mocking grin and baiting, she really hadn’t much liked. As such, she’d quickly judged his whisperings in her ear a short while ago at the breakfast table as an effort to mock her. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d been…why goodness, he’d been trying to rescue her from abject humiliation.
He wheeled about to face her. This man she hadn’t much liked and she now stared at him through newly opened eyes. Towering over her and with his sharply chiseled features, he was, despite her first and hastily formed opinion—really quite handsome. Which mattered not as much as the discovery of this new and unexpected kindness in the gentleman. Richard arched a chestnut eyebrow up.
A guilty flush suffused her cheeks and she scuffed the earth with the tip of her boot. “I was of an erroneous opinion.” How coolly polite that sounded. She cleared her throat. “I believed you were making light of me and reacted defensively, and for that, I apologize.” How was it that she, who was singularly unable to string together two sentences amidst Polite Society, should speak so unabashedly before this man?
He took a step in her direction. There should have been an unease in being alone in his presence. Though a friend of Lord Westfield, she knew Richard Jonas not at all beyond a handful of meetings. Still, for that, there was an ease in being around him that she’d never experienced with any other gentleman. “And I judged you also in unfairness.”
His words yanked her from her inexplicable musings. “Mr. J—Richard,” she amended at the piercing gaze he trained on her.
“Given the purpose of the duke’s summer party and your own attempts to secure a private meeting with Westfield, I gathered your intentions were driven by nothing more than an interest in that respective title.” The wind whipped her hair and that recalcitrant strand danced before her eyes. He took in that limp lock a moment. “It has become apparent that I was incorrect in my suppositions and for that, I apologize,” he murmured. He closed the distance between them and the intense glint in his gray eyes momentarily stole her breath.
“I—”
He shot a hand out and with that slight movement went coherent thought. Richard collected that strand of hair and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, and there was such a beautifully sweet intimacy in that almost caress. For she, who’d long bemoaned the dullness of the hopelessly flat, refusing to curl, strands, felt almost beautiful for them in that moment. Then, as though
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