Read Online The Lady Mercy Danforthe Flirts With Scandal by Jayne Fresina - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jayne Fresina
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too, for those things you said to me in the churchyard. I understand I must make certain allowances for your temper in the heat of that moment, but I would like an apology nonetheless.”
“Don’t hold your breath for one, meddlesome harridan.”
He stood before her, shoulders braced, fists at his side—a man ready to chase her out. She might as well be ten again and guilty of aiming an egg at the back of his head. Mercy could almost see the yolk dripping down the side of his neck, as it did back then.
Assessing him slowly, inch by inch, Mercy was just as astonished by his height today as she was every time she saw him since he turned fifteen and shot up almost overnight. It never ceased to shock. Rafe Hartley continued stretching north, and his shoulders were, she was certain, wider than some doors.
His eyes were still as blue as cornflowers, his hair as black as a crow’s wing. And that sizable chip remained on his shoulders, possibly growing in unison with their width.
Chapter 5
Rafe stared at the scarlet trespasser. Didn’t she know it was dangerous to wear red around a bull? Standing in a shaft of rain-streaked daylight, once again she glowed. Like an angel. No, he quickly corrected himself—not an angel. Like an evil pixie. A demon of some unholy nature.
She observed him slowly, and then her gaze turned to the pewter jug on the table. Her fine eyebrows arched high. “So your first reaction to a little setback is to drink yourself unconscious?”
A little setback? Yes, that is all it would be to her. Nothing ever ruffled her pristine feathers. Naturally the woman assumed he was drunk. In fact, he’d fallen asleep reading last night, but she was prepared to imagine the worst. High-and-mighty people like Mercy Danforthe had their preconceived notions about “common” folk like him. He wouldn’t bother disabusing her of the idea. Hands behind his back, he quietly closed the open copy of Bell’s Weekly upon which he’d slept most of the night. “Come to gloat over my misfortunes, woman?”
She passed slowly through the beam of light to stand within his reach—either brave or stupid to put herself that close. It had to be the former, because he knew she wasn’t the latter. She was too outspoken for her own good. Always had been, and he’d known her since she was ten, when she was all bronze curls, big green eyes, and busy mouth.
“Why are you still here?” he demanded, fists clenched at his sides.
Ignoring the question, she stooped gracefully to retrieve his chair from the floor. Her sweet, soft scent wafted up into his nostrils, and his heart slowed. The steady thumps in his chest seemed to thicken, grow heavier. He opened his fists, shook out his fingers.
Don’t think about that sort of thing now. Not with her here. The Danforthe Brat.
He groaned and pressed his hands to his head.
“Sit down before you fall down,” she exclaimed. With her hand on his arm, she forced him down into the chair. Even when she took her hand away again, he still felt her firm touch though his rolled shirtsleeve. Bloody woman. Why couldn’t she leave him alone? She’d done enough damage. Perhaps she had yet more planned. Through narrowed eyes, he watched her opening shutters, sighing extravagantly, and tut-tutting at the mess he’d made in his bachelor solitude over the past few days.
“We can’t have Molly coming back to this, can we?” Mercy exclaimed.
“What makes you think she’s coming back?”
“It was matrimonial nerves. They happen all the time.”
“Matrimonial nerves?” This was rich coming from her, he mused. The girl who once changed her mind and abandoned him on their wedding night to run back to London with her brother. “Becoming a pattern, isn’t it?” he muttered sourly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The second time a wife has abandoned me.” He hadn’t meant to raise the subject, but there it was. She’d stirred the matter out of its dark, uneasy slumber by coming here to
“Don’t hold your breath for one, meddlesome harridan.”
He stood before her, shoulders braced, fists at his side—a man ready to chase her out. She might as well be ten again and guilty of aiming an egg at the back of his head. Mercy could almost see the yolk dripping down the side of his neck, as it did back then.
Assessing him slowly, inch by inch, Mercy was just as astonished by his height today as she was every time she saw him since he turned fifteen and shot up almost overnight. It never ceased to shock. Rafe Hartley continued stretching north, and his shoulders were, she was certain, wider than some doors.
His eyes were still as blue as cornflowers, his hair as black as a crow’s wing. And that sizable chip remained on his shoulders, possibly growing in unison with their width.
Chapter 5
Rafe stared at the scarlet trespasser. Didn’t she know it was dangerous to wear red around a bull? Standing in a shaft of rain-streaked daylight, once again she glowed. Like an angel. No, he quickly corrected himself—not an angel. Like an evil pixie. A demon of some unholy nature.
She observed him slowly, and then her gaze turned to the pewter jug on the table. Her fine eyebrows arched high. “So your first reaction to a little setback is to drink yourself unconscious?”
A little setback? Yes, that is all it would be to her. Nothing ever ruffled her pristine feathers. Naturally the woman assumed he was drunk. In fact, he’d fallen asleep reading last night, but she was prepared to imagine the worst. High-and-mighty people like Mercy Danforthe had their preconceived notions about “common” folk like him. He wouldn’t bother disabusing her of the idea. Hands behind his back, he quietly closed the open copy of Bell’s Weekly upon which he’d slept most of the night. “Come to gloat over my misfortunes, woman?”
She passed slowly through the beam of light to stand within his reach—either brave or stupid to put herself that close. It had to be the former, because he knew she wasn’t the latter. She was too outspoken for her own good. Always had been, and he’d known her since she was ten, when she was all bronze curls, big green eyes, and busy mouth.
“Why are you still here?” he demanded, fists clenched at his sides.
Ignoring the question, she stooped gracefully to retrieve his chair from the floor. Her sweet, soft scent wafted up into his nostrils, and his heart slowed. The steady thumps in his chest seemed to thicken, grow heavier. He opened his fists, shook out his fingers.
Don’t think about that sort of thing now. Not with her here. The Danforthe Brat.
He groaned and pressed his hands to his head.
“Sit down before you fall down,” she exclaimed. With her hand on his arm, she forced him down into the chair. Even when she took her hand away again, he still felt her firm touch though his rolled shirtsleeve. Bloody woman. Why couldn’t she leave him alone? She’d done enough damage. Perhaps she had yet more planned. Through narrowed eyes, he watched her opening shutters, sighing extravagantly, and tut-tutting at the mess he’d made in his bachelor solitude over the past few days.
“We can’t have Molly coming back to this, can we?” Mercy exclaimed.
“What makes you think she’s coming back?”
“It was matrimonial nerves. They happen all the time.”
“Matrimonial nerves?” This was rich coming from her, he mused. The girl who once changed her mind and abandoned him on their wedding night to run back to London with her brother. “Becoming a pattern, isn’t it?” he muttered sourly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The second time a wife has abandoned me.” He hadn’t meant to raise the subject, but there it was. She’d stirred the matter out of its dark, uneasy slumber by coming here to
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