Read Online Unveiled by Courtney Milan - Free Book Online Page A

tiniest thing—barely the size of a ship’s cat. And she looked into my eyes from the bramble with the most baleful glare. What Ithought was if I could win this magnificent creature’s regard, it would truly mean something.”
    On those last words, he looked into Margaret’s eyes. For just one second, Margaret wished she were the sort to tumble into love over a pair of handsome brown eyes and a lovely set of shoulders. That she could ignore who she was—who he was—and what he’d done. But she couldn’t.
    Maybe he could manufacture the ring of sincerity in his voice, could manipulate the warm directness of his gaze. But it didn’t matter even if he meant what he said.
    He might make her forget the itch of her hairpins. But when he left, they would still be there, piercing her scalp. He couldn’t change reality, and she wouldn’t forget.
    She glanced up at him reluctantly. “What happened after you found the cub, then?”
    â€œI reached for her. She bit me.” He smiled, looking off into the distance. “It was worth it.”
    She had to look away, as well. More dangerous, even, than those piercing brown eyes was that implied compliment. He’d just told her that she was worth it—she and all her prickles.
    And he hadn’t said it because he wanted sixty thousand pounds in the five-percents. Nor because she was the key to forging an alliance with an old, noble family. No; he could have any of the other women who no doubt had signaled their willingness to kiss his feet. Instead, he’d chosen to pursue her. And no matter how impure his motives, she felt all the force of that compliment. Not going to her head, like bubbles of champagne, but sinking deep into her skin.
    She tugged on her bonnet strings again. “Is that how you see me? Wild? Savage?”
    â€œFierce. Protective. Implacable when angered, but I believe your affection can be earned. And you’ve been hiding in a veritable thicket of rules made for you by society. You’re cribbed about by the requirements of gentility, when genteel society has never done you any favors. Why do you even wear a bonnet, when you hate it so?”
    Margaret sniffed, her hair pins itching once more. “I don’t know what you could mean,” she said untruthfully. How had he known?
    â€œYou’ve tugged on your bonnet strings five times in this conversation already. Why wear one, if it’s so uncomfortable? Have you any reason for it, other than that it is what everyone else does?”
    â€œI brown terribly in the sunlight. I’ll develop freckles.”
    â€œOh, no. That sounds awful.” He spoke with exaggerated solicitude, but he leaned down from his horse until his nose was a bare foot from hers. “Freckles. And what do those dastardly spots portend? Are freckled people thrown in prison? Pilloried? Covered in tar and sprinkled with tiny little down feathers?”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous.”
    He moved his hand in a lazy circle, ending with it stretched towards her, palm out. As if to say, explain why.
    â€œPale skin—a white complexion—is superior,” Margaret said. “I don’t know why I am defending a proposition everyone knows to be true.”
    â€œBecause I don’t know it.” Mr. Turner slid his finger under her chin. “Yet another reason why I am glad Iam not a gentleman. Do you know why my peers want their brides to have pale skin?”
    She was all too aware of the golden glow of vitality emanating from him. She could feel the warmth in his finger. She shouldn’t encourage him. Still, the word slipped out. “Why?”
    â€œThey want a woman who is a canvas, white and empty. Standing still, existing for no other purpose than to serve as a mute object onto which they can paint their own hopes and desires. They want their brides veiled. They want a demure, blank space they can fill with whatever they