Read Online The Temptation of the Night Jasmine by Lauren Willig - Free Book Online

else had taken advantage of the sunshine and solitude. Halfway down the long room sat Charlotte, curled in a comfortable ball on a padded bench by the window.
    There was a book in her lap, of course, tilted to catch the sunlight. She had tucked her feet up beneath her, tucking the long skirt of her green wool dress up around her for warmth. She sat with one cheek leaning against the cool of the windowpane, pulling her hair free from its pins so that it stood up unevenly against the window on one side and snaked down on the other. With the sunlight washing over her, she glowed like one of the illuminated capitals on a medieval manuscript, from the gold of her hair to the deep green of her dress and the rich red of the cover of the book in her pale hands.
    She didn’t look up as he ventured nearer, all her attention bent upon the page in front of her.
    Robert tilted his head to try to read the title. ‘ Evelina ?’
    ‘What?’ Glancing wildly up, Charlotte dropped her book and cracked her head against the glass. ‘Owwwww.’ Robert winced in sympathy.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, bending over to retrieve her book. From the look of the binding, it had been in an advanced state of dilapidation even before taking its latest plunge. Robert smoothed out a bent page, closed the cover, and handed it ceremoniously back to her. ‘I shouldn’t have startled you.’
    ‘That’s all right,’ said Charlotte, holding out one hand to take the book from him as she pressed the other to the back of her head. ‘I was just …’
    ‘Elsewhere?’ Robert provided for her.
    ‘Very much so.’ Charlotte looked tenderly down at her book with the sort of affection usually reserved for well-loved pets and very small children. ‘Evelina was just carried off by Sir Clement Willoughby!’
    Having no idea who either party was, Robert couldn’t tell whether that was a cause for congratulation or condolence. ‘Is that good or bad?’
    ‘Very bad,’ Charlotte informed him. ‘But fear not, she manages to free herself from his vile clutches.’
    ‘I am immensely reassured to hear that.’ Robert looked quizzically down at her. ‘I gather you’ve seen this Evelina carried off by Sir What’s-His-Name before?’
    ‘Many times,’ Charlotte admitted. She regarded the battered binding critically. ‘I may need to get a new copy soon.’
    Robert rather felt that would be in order.
    ‘Shouldn’t you be watching the mummers?’ he asked, with mock reproach.
    Wriggling her legs out from under her, Charlotte cast about for an excuse. ‘I saw them last year.’
    ‘And they’re awful,’ said Robert drily.
    Charlotte grimaced. ‘And they’re awful. But they do try so hard.’
    ‘It might be less painful if they tried a little less hard.’ Robert held out his hand to help her off the window seat, since she seemed to keep getting tangled in her own skirts. ‘Having St George battle both Bonaparte and a group of maddened pygmies was certainly a unique concept.’
    ‘It might have been worse,’ said Charlotte, shaking out her skirts, which were sadly wrinkled from her sojourn by the window. There was a crease across one cheek where she must have been leaning against the edge of the drape. She looked flushed and comfortable and adorably rumpled. She shoved a stray wisp of her hair back behind her ear, a move that did little to right the rest of her coiffure. ‘Last year they had Mr Pitt fighting off the Saracens with a broomstick.’
    ‘I’m sure he’s capable of it,’ said Robert diplomatically. ‘Should there be any Saracens to fight.’
    ‘I believe they’re called Ottomans now,’ said Charlotte. She tucked her book neatly under her arm. ‘I wonder if any of them still think of us as Normans.’
    Robert had to confess that it wasn’t a problem that had ever presented itself to him before. ‘Were we ever?’
    ‘Well …’ Charlotte bit down on her lower lip as she considered the question. ‘Grandmama would like to think so, but