Read Online The Frog Earl by Carola Dunn - Free Book Online Page A

you well?”
    “Well enough, thank you, Mr. Hurst.” She set down her knitting, some garment of indeterminate color and inordinate length, and withdrew a skein of yarn from her workbox.
    “Pray be seated, sir,” said Miss Lassiter. “Ma'am, do you wish me to hold the wool while you roll a ball?”
    “I hesitate to ask it when we have a caller, Mimi, but if you wouldn't mind...”
    “Not at all.” She began to fold her own work.
    “You are already occupied. Allow me to be of assistance,” Simon offered, sitting down beside Mrs. Forbes. To his disappointment, the Indian princess was behaving today as sedately as any well-bred milk-and-water miss, but he decided to play up to her lead. Perhaps she had been raked over the coals for her unseemly liveliness last night, though he had thought her to have more spirit than to be cowed by a scolding. He took the skein from Mrs. Forbes. “You will have to show me what to do for you, ma'am.”
    “So kind.”
    Patiently he followed her muddled instructions until he had the yarn settled around each hand and stretched between them. She began to wind the ball, and at last he had attention to spare for Miss Lassiter.
    She was watching him with wickedly sparkling black eyes, her lips pressed together so firmly he knew she was trying to hide her amusement. She was saucy Mimi again, not the decorous Miss Lassiter. Oddly reassured, he came to the conclusion that gentlemen callers did not as a rule offer their services for winding wool. If Gerald had foreseen the possibility, no doubt he would have warned against it. Simon sighed.
    “I trust you are not regretting your kindness already, Mr. Hurst?”
    “Certainly not, Miss Lassiter.” There was a jerk on his hands and he nearly dropped the lot.
    Mimi let fall her own work. “Oh dear, you must not hold it so taut. And you need to move your hands just the tiniest bit, in rhythm with Mrs. Forbes's winding. Here, let me show you.”
    She was at his side, her little hands holding his wrists. He breathed in the warm, rich smell of her smooth skin. For a moment he was as breathless as if he were drowning in her fragrance—then he recalled that she was a princess and he was a frog. Frogs don't drown. He surfaced as she giggled.
    “Heavens, it's much easier to do than to demonstrate. Perhaps I should...”
    “Sir Wilfred, ma'am,” announced the butler.
    With a startled jerk, she moved away from Simon, then stepped forward to greet the baronet. Today the young man was dressed less like a popinjay. In fact, Simon suspected that Gerald would have approved of his garb, except for a shudder at the pink roses embroidered on his blue waistcoat. His coat was tight-fitting but neither padded at the shoulders nor pinched in at the waist, and his boots had an admirable gloss.
    Simon glanced down regretfully at his own footwear.
    “Servant, Mrs. Forbes. Servant,…ah…Hurst.” Sir Wilfred raised contemptuous eyebrows at the sight of the yarn linking the two.
    Feeling foolish, Simon nodded in acknowledgment of the greeting. “You'll excuse my shaking your hand, Sir Wilfred,” he said dryly.
    “I was about to take Mr. Hurst to see my tadpoles,” said Mimi. Gone without a trace was the demure young lady who had so recently labored at her needlework. “I hope you have reconsidered your decision, Sir Wilfred, and will go with us?”
    “Er... better not.” The baronet looked round for inspiration, then produced an unconvincing sneeze. “Atchoo! Slight cold coming on, don't you know.”
    “Then you ought not to be out in this weather. I hope you don't mean to pass it on to the rest of us, Sir Wilfred,” said Mimi severely, to Simon's utter delight.
    “No, no, assure you, ma'am. Nothing to it, be better directly. All the same, best not to risk it, standing in the damp on a cold stone floor, don't you know. Daresay Hurst will like to take himself so you won't be obliged to desert a guest.”
    “Mr. Hurst is as much my guest as you are, sir. If