Read Online Wedding Night Revenge by MARY BRENDAN - Free Book Online
Authors: MARY BRENDAN
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surroundings. At present she was a bystander to the action; soon she would be its nervous protagonist.
Her senses seemed heightened in anticipation of that time as she absorbed all manner of minor detail from the threshold of the plush, aromatic room.
Verbena and lavender from cologne, and spice from perfumes and buffet foods mingled in the sultry air, infiltrating her nostrils like incense.
On a small raised dais Signora Laviola had been idly shuffling sheets of music in her hands, presumably in readiness to start her performance.
Rachel noticed that Lord Harley and one of his cronies were loitering about the foot of the stage, like faithful puppies. Sporadically a rewarding smile was tossed their way. One such flashing look from the diva darted directly from her lapdogs to her lover. Rachel watched the flash of recognition narrow Maria's eyes. Probably she remembered her from their brief exchange of glances in Charing Cross during the rumpus with the vehicles '
locking wheels. Rachel sensed the dark almond eyes slide over her. The woman's suspicion was quite legitimate; twice this week the signora had watched the Earl pay her obvious attention. She met the hostile appraisal challengingly for a second or two, then with a toss of butter-coloured curls turned her head.
And that was just the start! It seemed that everywhere she then looked she was subjected to a shrewd scrutiny.
Ruefully, she wished that, on the stairs moments ago, she had declined to take part in this singular scheme to secure them both a quiet life. And it had only been moments ago, despite the fact she felt as though she'd hesitated here for hours instead of minutes. A spurious show of concord no longer seemed such a good idea at all!
Pamela Pemberton's eyes had finally homed in on their quarry, resulting in a comically astonished grimace. That was the final straw! Rachel's facade of composure crumbled. An irrepressible choke of laughter had her quivering helplessly against her escort.
Connor looked down at her, then angled his raven head to see her demurely averted face shielding a tortured expression. She heard him swear softly in relief, then drawl, Tor a moment there I thought you were crying again.
What's so funny it's transformed tears to laughter?'
His unwanted perception was exactly what Rachel needed. Her hysteria was immediately stifled. She put up her chin; indeed, it lifted so high her eyes skimmed the ceiling before flitting over a sea of watching faces. Some people she recognised and knew would recall the scandal; others, fairly new to the social scene, had simply sensed the atmosphere engendered by their appearance and had grasped something gossip-worthy was afoot. Yet she managed to reply coolly, Tm not...I wasn't ever crying. You're mistaken, sir, I'm afraid.'
'Fine. You've not been crying. Let's not bicker and dispel the myth too soon.'
With a sideways look, he added mildly, 'We've been well and truly spotted, so try not to look quite so downcast. We're aiming for harmony...carefree...remember? Now, do you want to join your parents?'
'No! Not quite yet, sir, if you don't mind.' The first word was barked; in mitigation, the others emerged in such a meek whisper he had to stoop to hear them. Rachel cleared her throat and endeavoured to think of something else to say, so that she could converse in a properly modulated tone and prove she was quite able. Then she caught sight of her papa...and his wide smile...and his wink!
A small involuntary groan escaped her and her eyelids dropped in exasperated embarrassment. Oh, she knew how much her father liked this man...had always liked this man. She might very soon be on the receiving end of any amount of his unsubtle praise and innuendo. That horrifying realisation made her blurt gruffly, 'Might we sit over there? Just for a few moments, if you please, sir?' She indicated a quiet alcove by staring pointedly at it. If they headed that way they need pass very few people, yet it wasn't
Her senses seemed heightened in anticipation of that time as she absorbed all manner of minor detail from the threshold of the plush, aromatic room.
Verbena and lavender from cologne, and spice from perfumes and buffet foods mingled in the sultry air, infiltrating her nostrils like incense.
On a small raised dais Signora Laviola had been idly shuffling sheets of music in her hands, presumably in readiness to start her performance.
Rachel noticed that Lord Harley and one of his cronies were loitering about the foot of the stage, like faithful puppies. Sporadically a rewarding smile was tossed their way. One such flashing look from the diva darted directly from her lapdogs to her lover. Rachel watched the flash of recognition narrow Maria's eyes. Probably she remembered her from their brief exchange of glances in Charing Cross during the rumpus with the vehicles '
locking wheels. Rachel sensed the dark almond eyes slide over her. The woman's suspicion was quite legitimate; twice this week the signora had watched the Earl pay her obvious attention. She met the hostile appraisal challengingly for a second or two, then with a toss of butter-coloured curls turned her head.
And that was just the start! It seemed that everywhere she then looked she was subjected to a shrewd scrutiny.
Ruefully, she wished that, on the stairs moments ago, she had declined to take part in this singular scheme to secure them both a quiet life. And it had only been moments ago, despite the fact she felt as though she'd hesitated here for hours instead of minutes. A spurious show of concord no longer seemed such a good idea at all!
Pamela Pemberton's eyes had finally homed in on their quarry, resulting in a comically astonished grimace. That was the final straw! Rachel's facade of composure crumbled. An irrepressible choke of laughter had her quivering helplessly against her escort.
Connor looked down at her, then angled his raven head to see her demurely averted face shielding a tortured expression. She heard him swear softly in relief, then drawl, Tor a moment there I thought you were crying again.
What's so funny it's transformed tears to laughter?'
His unwanted perception was exactly what Rachel needed. Her hysteria was immediately stifled. She put up her chin; indeed, it lifted so high her eyes skimmed the ceiling before flitting over a sea of watching faces. Some people she recognised and knew would recall the scandal; others, fairly new to the social scene, had simply sensed the atmosphere engendered by their appearance and had grasped something gossip-worthy was afoot. Yet she managed to reply coolly, Tm not...I wasn't ever crying. You're mistaken, sir, I'm afraid.'
'Fine. You've not been crying. Let's not bicker and dispel the myth too soon.'
With a sideways look, he added mildly, 'We've been well and truly spotted, so try not to look quite so downcast. We're aiming for harmony...carefree...remember? Now, do you want to join your parents?'
'No! Not quite yet, sir, if you don't mind.' The first word was barked; in mitigation, the others emerged in such a meek whisper he had to stoop to hear them. Rachel cleared her throat and endeavoured to think of something else to say, so that she could converse in a properly modulated tone and prove she was quite able. Then she caught sight of her papa...and his wide smile...and his wink!
A small involuntary groan escaped her and her eyelids dropped in exasperated embarrassment. Oh, she knew how much her father liked this man...had always liked this man. She might very soon be on the receiving end of any amount of his unsubtle praise and innuendo. That horrifying realisation made her blurt gruffly, 'Might we sit over there? Just for a few moments, if you please, sir?' She indicated a quiet alcove by staring pointedly at it. If they headed that way they need pass very few people, yet it wasn't
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