Read Online Wedding Night Revenge by MARY BRENDAN - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: MARY BRENDAN
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quite a retreat either.
As Connor steered her towards the small table and a few chairs set adjacent to the door, Rachel was aware that their progress was being closely monitored by sharp eyes and sibilant voices.
Rachel settled gratefully into the chair her escort politely pulled out for her.
She thanked him as, nonchalantly, he rested a hand the colour of mahogany on its ' rosewood rail.
'Well, let's start with the weather,' Connor drawled in his easy, Irish tone.
To an observer, his expression must have looked pleasantly bland; only Rachel understood the ironic amusement in the blue between his thick black lashes.
'Now, would you say it was hotter today than yesterday? Do you think it might rain later this week?' He looked off into the middle distance, for all the world adopting the idle attitude of a man doing his duty bya female acquaintance. With a ghost of a smile, he murmured to a burnished crown of golden hair, 'By the time we get to the likelihood of a storm brewing, I imagine our hostess might be upon us. She looks to have already covered some ground there. Several lordly folk have been skirted about en route.'
'Perhaps she momentarily finds you so much more diverting, my lord...being new to the ranks.'
Connor idly examined his nails, then spoke to them. 'That sounds pretty much like sour grapes, Rachel. Now, does the fact that I'm an earl bother you?'
'Nothing about you bothers me, my lord. Why on earth would it?' Rachel shot back honey-voiced, yet the emphasis on his formal title dripped rebuff.
She'd not given him leave to be so familiar and use her given name.
He seemed unaffected by the reproof and laughed. 'Oh, I don't know...
Perhaps now I've risen in the ranks I imagined there might be certain things you regret...'
Rachel's sugary smile turned coy. Slowly her face lifted to his, mock enquiry winging her eyebrows. Pretty blue eyes peeped up at him through a nest of silky brunette lashes. It was a charming pose...but a wasted effort: his attention was elsewhere. Without taking a proper look to verify her suspicions, Rachel immediately identified the reason behind his steady, discreet regard for the opposite end of the room. She had twice before this evening been an unwilling witness to a smouldering-eyed man, captivated by his lady-love. She even knew when his mistress was satisfied with his wordless reassurance, for he remembered her again, and the trifling little charade in which they were co- starring.
'Don't look so tense, Rachel...Miss Meredith,' he corrected himself with studied solemnity. 'People will think I'm keeping you here with a concealed weapon pointing hard at you.'
On immediate reflection his words seemed to disproportionately amuse him.
He choked a private laugh at the ceiling, which only served to make Rachel feel increasingly wretched. But it was her own behaviour that disturbed her the most. With a flash of insight she realised she had been on the point of mimicking the behaviour she had seen her sister and her friend use.
Unbelievably, she had wanted to flirt with a man who had every right to despise her. Naturally, he'd been oblivious to her scheme. Had his boredom been feigned, as a deliberate snub, it would have been easier to bear, but he'd simply been distracted, far more partial to his present love than his past.
At nineteen, she had managed to twine a respected Major in the Hussars about her little finger. For months he had danced obediently to her tune...
whichever she demanded be played. Now he ignored her! For a few vital seconds she'd hovered on the brink of desiring a little rapport with him...and he had ignored her! And why should he not? And why should she care? Or feel humbled?
But she did.
People never ignored her; especially not men. She might not be liked very much, but she was never overlooked. A knot of angry humiliation was writhing in her, threatening to eject her from the chair and propel her, childlike, to find her parents. But she mustn't run
As Connor steered her towards the small table and a few chairs set adjacent to the door, Rachel was aware that their progress was being closely monitored by sharp eyes and sibilant voices.
Rachel settled gratefully into the chair her escort politely pulled out for her.
She thanked him as, nonchalantly, he rested a hand the colour of mahogany on its ' rosewood rail.
'Well, let's start with the weather,' Connor drawled in his easy, Irish tone.
To an observer, his expression must have looked pleasantly bland; only Rachel understood the ironic amusement in the blue between his thick black lashes.
'Now, would you say it was hotter today than yesterday? Do you think it might rain later this week?' He looked off into the middle distance, for all the world adopting the idle attitude of a man doing his duty bya female acquaintance. With a ghost of a smile, he murmured to a burnished crown of golden hair, 'By the time we get to the likelihood of a storm brewing, I imagine our hostess might be upon us. She looks to have already covered some ground there. Several lordly folk have been skirted about en route.'
'Perhaps she momentarily finds you so much more diverting, my lord...being new to the ranks.'
Connor idly examined his nails, then spoke to them. 'That sounds pretty much like sour grapes, Rachel. Now, does the fact that I'm an earl bother you?'
'Nothing about you bothers me, my lord. Why on earth would it?' Rachel shot back honey-voiced, yet the emphasis on his formal title dripped rebuff.
She'd not given him leave to be so familiar and use her given name.
He seemed unaffected by the reproof and laughed. 'Oh, I don't know...
Perhaps now I've risen in the ranks I imagined there might be certain things you regret...'
Rachel's sugary smile turned coy. Slowly her face lifted to his, mock enquiry winging her eyebrows. Pretty blue eyes peeped up at him through a nest of silky brunette lashes. It was a charming pose...but a wasted effort: his attention was elsewhere. Without taking a proper look to verify her suspicions, Rachel immediately identified the reason behind his steady, discreet regard for the opposite end of the room. She had twice before this evening been an unwilling witness to a smouldering-eyed man, captivated by his lady-love. She even knew when his mistress was satisfied with his wordless reassurance, for he remembered her again, and the trifling little charade in which they were co- starring.
'Don't look so tense, Rachel...Miss Meredith,' he corrected himself with studied solemnity. 'People will think I'm keeping you here with a concealed weapon pointing hard at you.'
On immediate reflection his words seemed to disproportionately amuse him.
He choked a private laugh at the ceiling, which only served to make Rachel feel increasingly wretched. But it was her own behaviour that disturbed her the most. With a flash of insight she realised she had been on the point of mimicking the behaviour she had seen her sister and her friend use.
Unbelievably, she had wanted to flirt with a man who had every right to despise her. Naturally, he'd been oblivious to her scheme. Had his boredom been feigned, as a deliberate snub, it would have been easier to bear, but he'd simply been distracted, far more partial to his present love than his past.
At nineteen, she had managed to twine a respected Major in the Hussars about her little finger. For months he had danced obediently to her tune...
whichever she demanded be played. Now he ignored her! For a few vital seconds she'd hovered on the brink of desiring a little rapport with him...and he had ignored her! And why should he not? And why should she care? Or feel humbled?
But she did.
People never ignored her; especially not men. She might not be liked very much, but she was never overlooked. A knot of angry humiliation was writhing in her, threatening to eject her from the chair and propel her, childlike, to find her parents. But she mustn't run
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