Read Online The Uncatchable Miss Faversham by Elizabeth Moss - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Moss
Ads: Link
at her through the candlelight without speaking. For a moment he considered those glossy chestnut curls, that enchanting but eminently stubborn profile. By God, she was still a beauty!
Nonetheless he found his lip curling at her earnest declaration. What did Miss Eleanor Faversham know of love? Widely considered the most heartless flirt in London, she had not earned the soubriquet “Uncatchable” for nothing.
It was tempting to point this out and watch her reaction, but Nathaniel merely shrugged and drank deep from his glass instead. He was not about to air his views on their guest’s character with the servants listening.
Dinner was an uncomfortably one-sided conversation. Charlotte talked mostly to herself while Eleanor tried conscientiously to listen to every detail of her friend’s life but in truth caught only the occasional word. Her true focus of attention was at the other end of the table, troubling her soul and carelessly elegant in a dark blue coat and flawless white cravat.
It was with a profound sense of relief that the chairs were drawn back at last and the two ladies allowed to escape the table.
‘I must go upstairs to the nursery and kiss my dear little Robert goodnight, otherwise he will never settle,’ Charlotte said hurriedly as they entered the drawing room together, pressing her hand in a conspiratorial fashion. ‘Please forgive me for leaving you, Nell. I will not be long, I promise. Then we must talk.’
Eleanor stood a moment in the drawing room, unsure what to do, then made her way to the curtained windows, suddenly caught up on a wave of nostalgia. There was a small balcony, if she recalled rightly, that overlooked the back lawns and formal gardens.
Nathaniel had taken her onto that balcony once when they were younger, to show her the distant glitter of water that marked the course of the River Leam. She could still remember how tightly he had held her, his arm linked possessively about her waist.
How young she had been then, and how unused to strict English notions of propriety!
Her cheeks flamed at the memory. It had been a dreadful mistake on her part to allow the young noblemen so many liberties, to let him think she was open to a proposal. She had always been fascinated by Nathaniel’s brooding intensity, his battle scars only making him more attractive to her, but marriage to such a man?
At eighteen, his proposal had terrified her. Eleanor had seen with her own eyes how some women seemed to shrink and fade after marriage. It had happened to schoolgirl friends in Jamaica, their youthful bloom lost, their new husbands controlling every aspect of their lives.
Would Nathaniel have been any better?
Slipping outside onto the chilly balcony, Eleanor shivered and wished she had kept her pelisse. But the beautiful silvery view over the moonlit gardens was enough to make her forget the cold.
‘All alone?’
Eleanor turned, startled. She had not heard Nathaniel coming out behind her onto the balcony.
His body seemed to fill the narrow space, strong and imposing. She tried to look at the man without giving herself away, to meet his gaze with cool detachment, but she was convinced he must be able to see how attractive she found him.
That thought made her blush.
At twenty-five, fresh from the war on the Peninsular, Lord Nathaniel Sallinger had been a wiry, almost awkward young man. He had never been attractive in any conventional sense, for the left side of his face had been cut about fiercely by some sabre-wielding cavalryman at Corunna, after which Nathaniel had been trampled by the man’s horse, leaving him with a permanent limp.
Yet there had been something mesmerising about the scarred young officer, a bristling physical presence which had drawn her to him from their very first meeting.
Now his chest and shoulders were broader, their muscular
Nonetheless he found his lip curling at her earnest declaration. What did Miss Eleanor Faversham know of love? Widely considered the most heartless flirt in London, she had not earned the soubriquet “Uncatchable” for nothing.
It was tempting to point this out and watch her reaction, but Nathaniel merely shrugged and drank deep from his glass instead. He was not about to air his views on their guest’s character with the servants listening.
Dinner was an uncomfortably one-sided conversation. Charlotte talked mostly to herself while Eleanor tried conscientiously to listen to every detail of her friend’s life but in truth caught only the occasional word. Her true focus of attention was at the other end of the table, troubling her soul and carelessly elegant in a dark blue coat and flawless white cravat.
It was with a profound sense of relief that the chairs were drawn back at last and the two ladies allowed to escape the table.
‘I must go upstairs to the nursery and kiss my dear little Robert goodnight, otherwise he will never settle,’ Charlotte said hurriedly as they entered the drawing room together, pressing her hand in a conspiratorial fashion. ‘Please forgive me for leaving you, Nell. I will not be long, I promise. Then we must talk.’
Eleanor stood a moment in the drawing room, unsure what to do, then made her way to the curtained windows, suddenly caught up on a wave of nostalgia. There was a small balcony, if she recalled rightly, that overlooked the back lawns and formal gardens.
Nathaniel had taken her onto that balcony once when they were younger, to show her the distant glitter of water that marked the course of the River Leam. She could still remember how tightly he had held her, his arm linked possessively about her waist.
How young she had been then, and how unused to strict English notions of propriety!
Her cheeks flamed at the memory. It had been a dreadful mistake on her part to allow the young noblemen so many liberties, to let him think she was open to a proposal. She had always been fascinated by Nathaniel’s brooding intensity, his battle scars only making him more attractive to her, but marriage to such a man?
At eighteen, his proposal had terrified her. Eleanor had seen with her own eyes how some women seemed to shrink and fade after marriage. It had happened to schoolgirl friends in Jamaica, their youthful bloom lost, their new husbands controlling every aspect of their lives.
Would Nathaniel have been any better?
Slipping outside onto the chilly balcony, Eleanor shivered and wished she had kept her pelisse. But the beautiful silvery view over the moonlit gardens was enough to make her forget the cold.
‘All alone?’
Eleanor turned, startled. She had not heard Nathaniel coming out behind her onto the balcony.
His body seemed to fill the narrow space, strong and imposing. She tried to look at the man without giving herself away, to meet his gaze with cool detachment, but she was convinced he must be able to see how attractive she found him.
That thought made her blush.
At twenty-five, fresh from the war on the Peninsular, Lord Nathaniel Sallinger had been a wiry, almost awkward young man. He had never been attractive in any conventional sense, for the left side of his face had been cut about fiercely by some sabre-wielding cavalryman at Corunna, after which Nathaniel had been trampled by the man’s horse, leaving him with a permanent limp.
Yet there had been something mesmerising about the scarred young officer, a bristling physical presence which had drawn her to him from their very first meeting.
Now his chest and shoulders were broader, their muscular
Similar Books
