Read Online The Pretender by Celeste Bradley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Celeste Bradley
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very pretty little corpse!" hissed Simon.
As she opened her mouth to retort once more, Agatha's mind snagged on one word.
Pretty?
Simon found her pretty? The very thought made Agatha trip on the grand marble stairs leading to the entry of Lord Winchell's even grander house. Simon continued his measured pace, his grip on her hand ensuring that she kept up, like it or not.
Agatha was actually grateful for his domineering attitude at the moment, for it allowed her to pull her thoughts together before being forced to greet the host and hostess.
He wished her to hide her bosom, but he thought her pretty?
A slow smile began as she put the two together. The warm feeling that Agatha had felt during that one afternoon as they had waltzed returned.
She steered Simon to the row of servants who took their outerwear. Then they entered the ostentatious hall and followed the stream of people into a grand ballroom.
While it was not as packed as it likely would be for a true ball, the guests seemed only to enjoy the spacious room the more. Agatha had never seen such expensive elegance. Memories of the assembly rooms that she had experienced in Lancashire faded next to the gleaming gilt-and-rose ballroom.
Her smile now one of excitement and delight, Agatha turned it on Simon.
"Isn't this beautiful?"
He leaned close. "It's a bloody dog 'n' pony show, if'n you ask me," he said, the Cockney thick in his voice.
"Simon! You promised!" Agatha was horrified until she realized from his grin that he was only teasing her. Glad to see his sour mood had dissipated, she smiled fondly at him as they came level with the Winchells.
Still delighted with her surroundings, Agatha found it easy to smile naturally at Lady Winchell as well.
Lavinia raised one perfect brow and twisted her lips in a wintry smile. "Why, Mrs. Applequist! You look quite grand. And I was so worried that you wouldn't find something suitable to wear after your long sojourn in the country."
Well, now the smile wasn't quite so natural, but Agatha refused to let Lady Winchell spoil her good mood.
"Lady Winchell, I pale beside your elegance, I'm sure. Wherever did you find such style? Most of the ladies I know bemoan the loss of French fashion, but you manage to look as if we were never at war at all."
Simon choked. Did Agatha realize that she had practically called a leading member of Society a French collaborator to her face? At the expression on Lady Winchell's face, he knew he wasn't the only one who had read the compliment as a barb.
With eyes narrowed and teeth bared in what hardly passed as a smile, Lady Winchell dropped Agatha's hand as though she held a dead rat and turned to Simon.
Instantly the lady's smile turned from piqued to predatory, and Simon blinked. He took her offered hand and repeated one of Agatha's scripted greetings as he bowed deeply over it. He felt Lady Winchell's middle finger slide up and down over his palm suggestively.
Now wasn't that an interesting development? He glanced up to see Agatha eyeing their clasped hands. She did not look happy.
"We mustn't keep you, my lady," she said sharply as Lady Winchell pulled her hand ever so slowly from Simon's. "I'm sure your other guests grow impatient."
Grabbing Simon's hand and nearly dislocating his shoulder, Agatha pulled him by force away into the circling guests.
"What is your difficulty?" snapped Simon. He wrested his arm from her grip. "I was merely following your instructions."
Agatha stopped her headlong charge and faced him. "You watch out for her,
darling.
She knows something, I can tell. She has always been suspicious of me, I don't know why."
"Could it be because you have been living a lie since you came to London?" Simon straightened his coat and cuffs, not looking up until he noticed her sudden silence.
"How did you know that?" Agatha whispered.
Oh, hellfire. For a moment, Simon couldn't recall what he was supposed to know and not know. "Ah, because you, ah, told everyone that you
As she opened her mouth to retort once more, Agatha's mind snagged on one word.
Pretty?
Simon found her pretty? The very thought made Agatha trip on the grand marble stairs leading to the entry of Lord Winchell's even grander house. Simon continued his measured pace, his grip on her hand ensuring that she kept up, like it or not.
Agatha was actually grateful for his domineering attitude at the moment, for it allowed her to pull her thoughts together before being forced to greet the host and hostess.
He wished her to hide her bosom, but he thought her pretty?
A slow smile began as she put the two together. The warm feeling that Agatha had felt during that one afternoon as they had waltzed returned.
She steered Simon to the row of servants who took their outerwear. Then they entered the ostentatious hall and followed the stream of people into a grand ballroom.
While it was not as packed as it likely would be for a true ball, the guests seemed only to enjoy the spacious room the more. Agatha had never seen such expensive elegance. Memories of the assembly rooms that she had experienced in Lancashire faded next to the gleaming gilt-and-rose ballroom.
Her smile now one of excitement and delight, Agatha turned it on Simon.
"Isn't this beautiful?"
He leaned close. "It's a bloody dog 'n' pony show, if'n you ask me," he said, the Cockney thick in his voice.
"Simon! You promised!" Agatha was horrified until she realized from his grin that he was only teasing her. Glad to see his sour mood had dissipated, she smiled fondly at him as they came level with the Winchells.
Still delighted with her surroundings, Agatha found it easy to smile naturally at Lady Winchell as well.
Lavinia raised one perfect brow and twisted her lips in a wintry smile. "Why, Mrs. Applequist! You look quite grand. And I was so worried that you wouldn't find something suitable to wear after your long sojourn in the country."
Well, now the smile wasn't quite so natural, but Agatha refused to let Lady Winchell spoil her good mood.
"Lady Winchell, I pale beside your elegance, I'm sure. Wherever did you find such style? Most of the ladies I know bemoan the loss of French fashion, but you manage to look as if we were never at war at all."
Simon choked. Did Agatha realize that she had practically called a leading member of Society a French collaborator to her face? At the expression on Lady Winchell's face, he knew he wasn't the only one who had read the compliment as a barb.
With eyes narrowed and teeth bared in what hardly passed as a smile, Lady Winchell dropped Agatha's hand as though she held a dead rat and turned to Simon.
Instantly the lady's smile turned from piqued to predatory, and Simon blinked. He took her offered hand and repeated one of Agatha's scripted greetings as he bowed deeply over it. He felt Lady Winchell's middle finger slide up and down over his palm suggestively.
Now wasn't that an interesting development? He glanced up to see Agatha eyeing their clasped hands. She did not look happy.
"We mustn't keep you, my lady," she said sharply as Lady Winchell pulled her hand ever so slowly from Simon's. "I'm sure your other guests grow impatient."
Grabbing Simon's hand and nearly dislocating his shoulder, Agatha pulled him by force away into the circling guests.
"What is your difficulty?" snapped Simon. He wrested his arm from her grip. "I was merely following your instructions."
Agatha stopped her headlong charge and faced him. "You watch out for her,
darling.
She knows something, I can tell. She has always been suspicious of me, I don't know why."
"Could it be because you have been living a lie since you came to London?" Simon straightened his coat and cuffs, not looking up until he noticed her sudden silence.
"How did you know that?" Agatha whispered.
Oh, hellfire. For a moment, Simon couldn't recall what he was supposed to know and not know. "Ah, because you, ah, told everyone that you
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