Read Online The Dangers Of Deceiving A Viscount by Julia London - Free Book Online Page B

delight. “Well then, I should—”
    Whatever he might have said was lost—Phoebe was jostled when Lord Summerfield suddenly surged past her and clamped his hand down on her sketchbook. She hadn’t heard him come into the room, and apparently, neither had his brother. Summerfield was taller than his brother, broader and thicker, and glared down at the younger man with a murderous gaze. “Joshua,” he said through clenched teeth, “the lady does not want to share her sketches.” He yanked the book from Joshua’s hands. “Please do apologize.”
    “She is not a lady, she is a seamstress, and she is rather suspiciously lurking about the room—”
    “Joshua.”
    Summerfield’s commanding voice had the desired effect. Joshua shifted his blazing gaze from the viscount to Phoebe. “I beg your pardon,” he said curtly.
    The viscount stepped aside. “Now go.”
    Glaring at his brother, Joshua strode forward, pushing past Phoebe as he quit the room.
    When he had gone, Summerfield closed the sketchbook without looking at it—thanks to the slew of promises Phoebe had just made to God in exchange for his not looking—and handed it to her.
    “My sincerest apology for my brother’s abominable behavior,” he said tightly.
    Phoebe nodded. “Thank you for retrieving my book,” she said, and held it tightly to her chest for a moment.
    He said nothing, but his gaze was intent on hers. His scrutiny made her feel awkward. Yet he was not looking at her in the same manner men generally looked at her. There was no lust in his expression. Just curiosity.
    “I beg your pardon,” Phoebe stammered nervously. “I was indeed lurking where I ought not to have been, but I noticed—” She winced, dismayed by her lack of decorum.
    He glanced around. “Noticed what?” he asked.
    “Nothing at all,” she said, clutching the sketchbook tighter.
    “There is something,” he contradicted her, and looked at her questioningly.
    Phoebe glanced heavenward a moment, then sighed. She’d been a fool to wander where she should not have been. “It is the color, my lord.”
    “The color?” It was clear he did not understand.
    “The thing is,” Phoebe said, relaxing a little, “the room does not receive a lot of sun, and the gray color will make it seem cold.”
    He glanced at the walls.
    “And…the furniture is a bit…”
    He shot a look at her; Phoebe hesitated. “A bit…?” he prompted her.
    “Scarce. A rug, perhaps,” she said, sweeping her hand to the floor. “And a divan.”
    Summerfield looked at the furniture she had rearranged.
    While he looked at the furniture as if he’d only just noticed it, Phoebe looked at him. He’d changed out of his buckskins and lawn shirt, and into attire more appropriate for a viscount. But his neckcloth, she noticed, was hastily tied and hung crookedly. His shirt cuffs were bunched beneath the sleeves of his coat, as if he’d just thrown it on. The curious black mark on his wrist, which she had glimpsed the morning he’d helped her to feed the horses, was even more visible, and she could see it was a tail that curled up the inside of his arm.
    He was not a fastidious man, and the effect was rather stirring—Phoebe could very well imagine him scaling mountains and sailing the high seas. Good God, she could hardly look at him without that blasted heat rising in her cheeks. But how could she help herself? He had the most striking hazel eyes she had ever seen, and his mouth…
    He suddenly looked at her and caught her staring at him.
    She blinked. “I should…go,” she blurted. “Thank you,” she added. But as she began to walk away, she clumsily dropped her sketchbook. It hit the table and fell open on the carpet. With a gasp, she instantly went down on her haunches to retrieve it. Unfortunately, Summerfield was faster, picking it up before she could reach it.
    Phoebe’s heart started to race. “How clumsy of me! Thank you,” she added, extending her hand for the book.
    But