Read Online The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) by Jenn LeBlanc - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jenn LeBlanc
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Francine staring at the books in her arms, smiling. As they reached the top of the staircase Mrs. Weston pushed Francine into the private parlor.
Francine grinned from ear to ear as she sank into the settee and spilled books all around her. She looked back to the door, expecting to see Mrs. Weston right behind her, but instead she heard him . He was close. She tiptoed to the doorway as quickly as she could, peering through the crack behind the door to see him inspecting the books in Mrs. Weston’s arms.
“I assume the outing was successful?” the duke asked.
“Yes, Your Grace. She seemed quite satisfied.”
He looked at her armload and picked a couple of books off the top. “ Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights. ” He grunted, then picked up the third book. “ The Divine Comedy? ”
Francine took the opportunity to appraise him. He wore dark grey trousers that strapped around his shoes, creating a sharp line to his leg; a crisp white shirt; a rumpled neck cloth; and a black waistcoat. The muscles of his thighs strained the fabric of his trousers, and as he leaned forward—reading the titles of the books—a lock of hair fell across his forehead, begging her to smooth it back.
He glanced toward the doorway and she jerked back and held her breath, feeling his gaze sweep the opening before refocusing on Mrs. Weston. He placed the books back on the stack and turned on his heel.
“Thank you again, Your Grace,” Mrs. Weston called after him.
The duke simply waved a hand behind his head at her thanks and ducked swiftly through a doorway. As he walked away Francine marveled at the cocky way he didn’t turn back. The only word that came to mind was dashing. No— stunning . Mrs. Weston, on the other hand, appeared frazzled.
Francine walked back to the settee and started organizing the books on the table, trying to calm her speeding heart rate.
“Miss, I have to see that supper is started. Will you be all right?” Mrs. Weston asked as she made her way over and put the books down.
Francine nodded and sat back, examining her treasure. She giggled and felt her throat catch slightly, then lifted a hand to massage it. She carefully rearranged the order with the addition of the new books, deciding to start with Vanity Fair since she had meant to reread that book ever since the movie came out.
She set Madame Bovary aside; she would read that one later. She suddenly realized she had been quite lucky to have had that particular novel in her stack instead of Mrs. Weston. If the duke had seen Madame Bovary she would have died of embarrassment. She sighed and looked out over the gardens before settling back to start reading.
She was disappearing into Vanity Fair when she heard it: the steady, powerful hoof-beats of the beautiful black horse and the infuriating—and striking—rider he carried. She stood and walked to the French doors, placing her hands lightly on the handles.
She wouldn’t go outside—there was no way she would test the duke’s patience again—but she did open the door a smidge to let the air in. He soon disappeared into the trees and she threw the door wide to feel the spring breeze before going back to her book. She needed someone else’s conflict to occupy her mind for a while.
Roxleigh rode for the clearing. He wasn’t getting any work done with her around. Today was the first time he’d ever used the passages for a nefarious purpose. He’d watched her in his library. She knew the titles, clapping her hands and pulling the books off the shelves to add to her stack.
He watched her read the pages, inspecting the personal inscriptions that were written to his father, grandsire, mother, grandmother, and others, delicately running her fingers over the pages as if each one was a precious treasure. He’d wondered what it felt like to be those pages, handled so delicately and with such care, then realized with his recent behavior that she might actually be wondering which circle of hell she
Francine grinned from ear to ear as she sank into the settee and spilled books all around her. She looked back to the door, expecting to see Mrs. Weston right behind her, but instead she heard him . He was close. She tiptoed to the doorway as quickly as she could, peering through the crack behind the door to see him inspecting the books in Mrs. Weston’s arms.
“I assume the outing was successful?” the duke asked.
“Yes, Your Grace. She seemed quite satisfied.”
He looked at her armload and picked a couple of books off the top. “ Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights. ” He grunted, then picked up the third book. “ The Divine Comedy? ”
Francine took the opportunity to appraise him. He wore dark grey trousers that strapped around his shoes, creating a sharp line to his leg; a crisp white shirt; a rumpled neck cloth; and a black waistcoat. The muscles of his thighs strained the fabric of his trousers, and as he leaned forward—reading the titles of the books—a lock of hair fell across his forehead, begging her to smooth it back.
He glanced toward the doorway and she jerked back and held her breath, feeling his gaze sweep the opening before refocusing on Mrs. Weston. He placed the books back on the stack and turned on his heel.
“Thank you again, Your Grace,” Mrs. Weston called after him.
The duke simply waved a hand behind his head at her thanks and ducked swiftly through a doorway. As he walked away Francine marveled at the cocky way he didn’t turn back. The only word that came to mind was dashing. No— stunning . Mrs. Weston, on the other hand, appeared frazzled.
Francine walked back to the settee and started organizing the books on the table, trying to calm her speeding heart rate.
“Miss, I have to see that supper is started. Will you be all right?” Mrs. Weston asked as she made her way over and put the books down.
Francine nodded and sat back, examining her treasure. She giggled and felt her throat catch slightly, then lifted a hand to massage it. She carefully rearranged the order with the addition of the new books, deciding to start with Vanity Fair since she had meant to reread that book ever since the movie came out.
She set Madame Bovary aside; she would read that one later. She suddenly realized she had been quite lucky to have had that particular novel in her stack instead of Mrs. Weston. If the duke had seen Madame Bovary she would have died of embarrassment. She sighed and looked out over the gardens before settling back to start reading.
She was disappearing into Vanity Fair when she heard it: the steady, powerful hoof-beats of the beautiful black horse and the infuriating—and striking—rider he carried. She stood and walked to the French doors, placing her hands lightly on the handles.
She wouldn’t go outside—there was no way she would test the duke’s patience again—but she did open the door a smidge to let the air in. He soon disappeared into the trees and she threw the door wide to feel the spring breeze before going back to her book. She needed someone else’s conflict to occupy her mind for a while.
Roxleigh rode for the clearing. He wasn’t getting any work done with her around. Today was the first time he’d ever used the passages for a nefarious purpose. He’d watched her in his library. She knew the titles, clapping her hands and pulling the books off the shelves to add to her stack.
He watched her read the pages, inspecting the personal inscriptions that were written to his father, grandsire, mother, grandmother, and others, delicately running her fingers over the pages as if each one was a precious treasure. He’d wondered what it felt like to be those pages, handled so delicately and with such care, then realized with his recent behavior that she might actually be wondering which circle of hell she
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