Read Online The Pursuit by Johanna Lindsey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Johanna Lindsey
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fellow, very good-looking as well. Not as handsome as Justin, but then it would be hard for any man to hold a candle to Justin St. James, whose parents were both exceptionally stunning in looks. Even Lincoln wasn’t that handsome….
She’d known that it was going to happen, the comparisons to Lincoln. She should have felt some attraction to Richard, if only a little, but no, nothing. Because of him .
Justin was going to be annoyed with her, she was sure, for not even giving Richard a chance. He really admired the man, had had nothing but wonderful things to say about him. And Richard liked her. He’d let her know in subtle ways even at their first meeting. But he’d have to be dense not to notice that she just wasn’t interested, and without any encouragement at all from her, he was already starting to look elsewhere before their dance even ended.
She was burning her own bridges and couldn’t seem to help it. Very well, so she wouldn’t find a husband here in London. Her parents had said that would be all right. Why were women expected to marry right out of the schoolroom anyway? Men weren’t and didn’t. They got to do as they liked for as long as they liked. Well, most of them did.
She could put her energies into something else besides a family, maybe draining the lake whenshe got home, to prove there was something unnatural on the bottom of it. She would become famous: Melissa MacGregor, discoverer of the first dragon known to mankind….
She saw him in passing. She’d been watching for black hair. She’d been watching for tall men. The combination of both drew her eyes like a magnet. She stumbled, trying to keep her eyes on him as she was twirled about in the waltz—impossible. And she was now on the other side of the floor.
She apologized to Richard, who’d managed to keep her from falling when she tripped over her own feet. They were coming around again to the point where she’d seen Lincoln on the edge of the crowd. He wasn’t there now. Had she imagined seeing him, just wishfulness on her part?
“Are you all right?” Richard inquired.
Did she look as dejected as she felt? “Aye—nae, actually. Would you mind taking me back tae the duchess? These new shoes have given me blisters, I’m thinking.”
That wasn’t the least bit true, but Richard nodded and escorted her to Justin—Megan was dancing at the moment with an old friend of the family. After politely mentioning her excuse for leaving the floor, he left them alone.
Justin, watching his friend go straight to another female for conversation, accused, “You don’t like him?”
“Dinna fash yourself. I canna concentrate on liking him or no’ when I’ve got another mon on m’mind.”
“What man?”
“That…one.”
He was there again, not ten feet away and staring at her as if he’d found something he’d lost. She probably looked the same to him, or worse. She knew she was blushing profusely, her pulse racing, her breath held in anticipation. If she fainted, she’d never forgive herself.
She couldn’t imagine why it had taken him so long to show up, but she was sure he’d tell her if he’d just come over to her. But he didn’t, and after a few more minutes passed, she began to think he wasn’t going to.
Eleven
T HIS was not the country waif in frill-less garb Lincoln had carried in his memory since meeting her. He almost hadn’t recognized her, the difference was so dramatic. Her evening gown was stunning, pale blue satin with white beaded embroidery in floral designs trailing up the long skirt and across the pointed waist and square-cut bodice, and dotting the short puffed satin sleeves. The long evening gloves and shoes were in the same pale blue, her coiffure simple but elegant, without a single hair out of place.
The gown was stunning— she was stunning—and what had he expected, when she hobnobbed with dukes and duchesses? The wind-blown country lass he’d impulsively decided to marry was definitely not
She’d known that it was going to happen, the comparisons to Lincoln. She should have felt some attraction to Richard, if only a little, but no, nothing. Because of him .
Justin was going to be annoyed with her, she was sure, for not even giving Richard a chance. He really admired the man, had had nothing but wonderful things to say about him. And Richard liked her. He’d let her know in subtle ways even at their first meeting. But he’d have to be dense not to notice that she just wasn’t interested, and without any encouragement at all from her, he was already starting to look elsewhere before their dance even ended.
She was burning her own bridges and couldn’t seem to help it. Very well, so she wouldn’t find a husband here in London. Her parents had said that would be all right. Why were women expected to marry right out of the schoolroom anyway? Men weren’t and didn’t. They got to do as they liked for as long as they liked. Well, most of them did.
She could put her energies into something else besides a family, maybe draining the lake whenshe got home, to prove there was something unnatural on the bottom of it. She would become famous: Melissa MacGregor, discoverer of the first dragon known to mankind….
She saw him in passing. She’d been watching for black hair. She’d been watching for tall men. The combination of both drew her eyes like a magnet. She stumbled, trying to keep her eyes on him as she was twirled about in the waltz—impossible. And she was now on the other side of the floor.
She apologized to Richard, who’d managed to keep her from falling when she tripped over her own feet. They were coming around again to the point where she’d seen Lincoln on the edge of the crowd. He wasn’t there now. Had she imagined seeing him, just wishfulness on her part?
“Are you all right?” Richard inquired.
Did she look as dejected as she felt? “Aye—nae, actually. Would you mind taking me back tae the duchess? These new shoes have given me blisters, I’m thinking.”
That wasn’t the least bit true, but Richard nodded and escorted her to Justin—Megan was dancing at the moment with an old friend of the family. After politely mentioning her excuse for leaving the floor, he left them alone.
Justin, watching his friend go straight to another female for conversation, accused, “You don’t like him?”
“Dinna fash yourself. I canna concentrate on liking him or no’ when I’ve got another mon on m’mind.”
“What man?”
“That…one.”
He was there again, not ten feet away and staring at her as if he’d found something he’d lost. She probably looked the same to him, or worse. She knew she was blushing profusely, her pulse racing, her breath held in anticipation. If she fainted, she’d never forgive herself.
She couldn’t imagine why it had taken him so long to show up, but she was sure he’d tell her if he’d just come over to her. But he didn’t, and after a few more minutes passed, she began to think he wasn’t going to.
Eleven
T HIS was not the country waif in frill-less garb Lincoln had carried in his memory since meeting her. He almost hadn’t recognized her, the difference was so dramatic. Her evening gown was stunning, pale blue satin with white beaded embroidery in floral designs trailing up the long skirt and across the pointed waist and square-cut bodice, and dotting the short puffed satin sleeves. The long evening gloves and shoes were in the same pale blue, her coiffure simple but elegant, without a single hair out of place.
The gown was stunning— she was stunning—and what had he expected, when she hobnobbed with dukes and duchesses? The wind-blown country lass he’d impulsively decided to marry was definitely not
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