Read Online The Duke's Obsession (Entangled Scandalous) by Frances Fowlkes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Frances Fowlkes
Tags: Regency, London, Romantic Comedy, enemies to lovers, entangled publishing, 1800's, Scandalous, Entangled Scandalous, across the tracks, duke, American heiress
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Holy hell. Edward turned forward, now raptly drawn to the shaking fingers of Lady Edith Fairbanks as they sat poised above the ivory keys of the soon-to-be-beaten pianoforte.
He frowned. Of course she was staring in his direction. He sat just left of the pianoforte, and as Edith had yet to pound out any notes, it was only logical to assume Miss Farrington sat in eager anticipation of the start of the program. She was in absolute certainty not staring at him.
He’d lost his fool mind, for Edith had finally set her fingers to the keys, and the sound that flowed from the pianoforte was not the cacophony he had expected, but something, well…good. He glanced at his mother. She, too, appeared equally surprised. He smiled at the reassurance that if his sense of reason had stopped working, his hearing, at least, had not.
The obvious tutelage of a very patient music instructor almost had Edward forgetting the pair of blue eyes staring at him from the side of the room—until he caught sight of their brilliant gaze after the last note was performed. This time, with all three of his cousins having exited from their positions in front of him, he was absolutely certain her attention was directed toward him. And that had him thinking thoughts that would have made Miss Farrington and every other female in the room blush.
Or at least it would have until Westbrook stood in front of her, effectively blocking his view.
Edward was not fond of crowds. Or short and uncouth men parading about under the guise of a gentleman. He took a step toward Miss Farrington just as a very feminine cough sounded at his side.
His mother stood beside him, flanked by Lady Isabella on her right and the chit’s mother on the left.
With an exceptional amount of effort, he held back the string of both French and Italian curses that sat on the tip of his tongue, and instead gave the polite, if not pleased, smile that was expected of him. “Lady Isabella, a pleasure as always.”
He never had been a very good liar, and his mother knew it. She came forward and rested her hand on his arm before facing Lady Isabella and her mother. “His Grace and I were going to give our praises to Lady Edith and her sisters on their fine accomplishments this evening. Perhaps you would care to join us?”
Ever the master of manipulation, his mother had so effortlessly created what, at least in her mind, was the perfect opportunity for him to engage in trite conversation with a young woman who cared more for his title and connections than whether he actually wished to engage in conversation with her at all. Just for once, he wished someone saw past the accoutrements of his station and blood to see the desires of the man underneath.
With a grand flourish he gave his biggest smile and said, “Ah, but before I give my cousins their due praise, I intend on asking Miss Farrington her opinion of this evening’s performance. Would you care to join me?”
Edward knew damn well the supercilious Countess of Dewbury would not wish to converse with an American, despite Lady Isabella’s furtive glances in Miss Farrington’s general direction. And by the smart pinch under his arm, his mother knew it, too.
“Perhaps at a later time,” the countess replied, and grabbed her daughter’s arm. “Lady Elizabeth is available and I’d like to extend my congratulations on her performance.”
With a forced smile and a nod to the countess, his mother replied, “I shall accompany you then.”
Which left him available to converse with Miss Farrington, a pursuit that seemed to be a common idea amongst the ton’s young bucks, if the sizeable and very male crowd growing around her was any indication. He discreetly elbowed through the gathering, the younger and less-titled lords stepping aside at his advance. Only Westbrook remained unmoved by his approach.
“Mr. Farrington,” Edward bowed. “Miss Farrington.”
“Your Grace,” Thomas Farrington replied. The man looked utterly
Holy hell. Edward turned forward, now raptly drawn to the shaking fingers of Lady Edith Fairbanks as they sat poised above the ivory keys of the soon-to-be-beaten pianoforte.
He frowned. Of course she was staring in his direction. He sat just left of the pianoforte, and as Edith had yet to pound out any notes, it was only logical to assume Miss Farrington sat in eager anticipation of the start of the program. She was in absolute certainty not staring at him.
He’d lost his fool mind, for Edith had finally set her fingers to the keys, and the sound that flowed from the pianoforte was not the cacophony he had expected, but something, well…good. He glanced at his mother. She, too, appeared equally surprised. He smiled at the reassurance that if his sense of reason had stopped working, his hearing, at least, had not.
The obvious tutelage of a very patient music instructor almost had Edward forgetting the pair of blue eyes staring at him from the side of the room—until he caught sight of their brilliant gaze after the last note was performed. This time, with all three of his cousins having exited from their positions in front of him, he was absolutely certain her attention was directed toward him. And that had him thinking thoughts that would have made Miss Farrington and every other female in the room blush.
Or at least it would have until Westbrook stood in front of her, effectively blocking his view.
Edward was not fond of crowds. Or short and uncouth men parading about under the guise of a gentleman. He took a step toward Miss Farrington just as a very feminine cough sounded at his side.
His mother stood beside him, flanked by Lady Isabella on her right and the chit’s mother on the left.
With an exceptional amount of effort, he held back the string of both French and Italian curses that sat on the tip of his tongue, and instead gave the polite, if not pleased, smile that was expected of him. “Lady Isabella, a pleasure as always.”
He never had been a very good liar, and his mother knew it. She came forward and rested her hand on his arm before facing Lady Isabella and her mother. “His Grace and I were going to give our praises to Lady Edith and her sisters on their fine accomplishments this evening. Perhaps you would care to join us?”
Ever the master of manipulation, his mother had so effortlessly created what, at least in her mind, was the perfect opportunity for him to engage in trite conversation with a young woman who cared more for his title and connections than whether he actually wished to engage in conversation with her at all. Just for once, he wished someone saw past the accoutrements of his station and blood to see the desires of the man underneath.
With a grand flourish he gave his biggest smile and said, “Ah, but before I give my cousins their due praise, I intend on asking Miss Farrington her opinion of this evening’s performance. Would you care to join me?”
Edward knew damn well the supercilious Countess of Dewbury would not wish to converse with an American, despite Lady Isabella’s furtive glances in Miss Farrington’s general direction. And by the smart pinch under his arm, his mother knew it, too.
“Perhaps at a later time,” the countess replied, and grabbed her daughter’s arm. “Lady Elizabeth is available and I’d like to extend my congratulations on her performance.”
With a forced smile and a nod to the countess, his mother replied, “I shall accompany you then.”
Which left him available to converse with Miss Farrington, a pursuit that seemed to be a common idea amongst the ton’s young bucks, if the sizeable and very male crowd growing around her was any indication. He discreetly elbowed through the gathering, the younger and less-titled lords stepping aside at his advance. Only Westbrook remained unmoved by his approach.
“Mr. Farrington,” Edward bowed. “Miss Farrington.”
“Your Grace,” Thomas Farrington replied. The man looked utterly
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