Read Online Wedding Night With the Earl by Amelia Grey - Free Book Online
Authors: Amelia Grey
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master at talking, and she seldom stopped for a breath. Uncle Willard would have to pretend he was having a lovely conversation with the lady by smiling, nodding, and occasionally shaking his head. Katherine doubted she would notice that he couldn’t hear.
Katherine picked up her napkin while guests continued to file into the room to find their seats. She’d been dining at the duke’s dinner parties for more than two years and long ago stopped wondering whom Aunt Leola would seat to her right. Katherine knew Uncle Willard wanted to be quiet and expected her to talk to whoever it was and not him.
Lady Leola handled all social events for the duke, including seating arrangements, and she wouldn’t accept suggestions from anyone. Auntie Lee also knew that Mrs. Henshawe would talk from the moment she sat down to the moment she left. It wouldn’t bother the widow at all that Uncle Willard wouldn’t be able to hear a word she said. She was quite happy to talk, if only to herself. He would be miserable, and she would be delighted.
Tomorrow at the breakfast table, Auntie Lee would listen quietly to Uncle Willard’s politely spoken words about her seating arrangements and then do exactly what she wanted to do at the next party. Katherine had seen very little change in the duke’s household the twelve years she had lived in it.
Katherine propped the handle of her plain wooden cane against the table to her right, where it would be easy for her to grasp if she needed to excuse herself to the retiring room, and then began taking off her gloves. A shadow slowly fell across the table beside her, and her hands stilled. Her dinner partner for the evening had arrived.
Somehow before she looked up, before she thought about glancing over at the place card, she knew the gentleman who had been seated beside her for the evening was the intriguing Earl of Greyhawke.
A shivery feeling skittered up Katherine’s back, and her heart started its wild, erratic beating again.
Chapter 7
A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue.
—Love’s Labour’s Lost, act 5, scene 2
Slowly, Katherine turned to her right and looked up. The first thing she saw was a tapered waist and a wide chest that filled out a white shirt outlined by a beige quilted waistcoat. Her gaze continued upward, past straight, broad shoulders to a beautifully tied neckcloth and on to a slightly square chin. She paused briefly at the wide masculine lips before skimming past a narrow nose and high cheekbones that led her vision to those intriguing brandy-colored eyes that had held her spellbound earlier in the evening.
Katherine’s fast-beating heart felt as if it stumbled in her chest. A tingling sensation rippled across her breast and then floated slowly and deliciously all the way down to her toes. A teasing warmth settled low in her abdomen. There was no use trying to deny the potent power of his masculinity. She’d never been so intensely aware of a man and found she couldn’t look away from the eyes that seemed to have the capacity to see into the depths of her soul.
The Earl of Greyhawke was tall and powerfully built, but nothing about him looked like a beast. Nothing about him seemed scary, yet she sensed he was a danger to her sensibilities.
“Good evening, Miss Wright,” he said, pulling out his chair. “We meet again.”
The Earl of Greyhawke smiled down at her as he bent to fit his tall, muscular frame into the small chair. As he did, he accidentally knocked the table, sending her cane clattering to the floor. She immediately reached down to collect it, and while she was coming up, the back of her head bumped his chin as he was reaching down to pick up the cane.
“Ouch,” she whispered.
“Ugh,” he grunted.
And together they both whispered, “My apologies.”
She looked around to see if her uncle or anyone else might have seen or heard their mishap, but there was so much chatter and scraping of chairs as others seated themselves that no one
Katherine picked up her napkin while guests continued to file into the room to find their seats. She’d been dining at the duke’s dinner parties for more than two years and long ago stopped wondering whom Aunt Leola would seat to her right. Katherine knew Uncle Willard wanted to be quiet and expected her to talk to whoever it was and not him.
Lady Leola handled all social events for the duke, including seating arrangements, and she wouldn’t accept suggestions from anyone. Auntie Lee also knew that Mrs. Henshawe would talk from the moment she sat down to the moment she left. It wouldn’t bother the widow at all that Uncle Willard wouldn’t be able to hear a word she said. She was quite happy to talk, if only to herself. He would be miserable, and she would be delighted.
Tomorrow at the breakfast table, Auntie Lee would listen quietly to Uncle Willard’s politely spoken words about her seating arrangements and then do exactly what she wanted to do at the next party. Katherine had seen very little change in the duke’s household the twelve years she had lived in it.
Katherine propped the handle of her plain wooden cane against the table to her right, where it would be easy for her to grasp if she needed to excuse herself to the retiring room, and then began taking off her gloves. A shadow slowly fell across the table beside her, and her hands stilled. Her dinner partner for the evening had arrived.
Somehow before she looked up, before she thought about glancing over at the place card, she knew the gentleman who had been seated beside her for the evening was the intriguing Earl of Greyhawke.
A shivery feeling skittered up Katherine’s back, and her heart started its wild, erratic beating again.
Chapter 7
A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue.
—Love’s Labour’s Lost, act 5, scene 2
Slowly, Katherine turned to her right and looked up. The first thing she saw was a tapered waist and a wide chest that filled out a white shirt outlined by a beige quilted waistcoat. Her gaze continued upward, past straight, broad shoulders to a beautifully tied neckcloth and on to a slightly square chin. She paused briefly at the wide masculine lips before skimming past a narrow nose and high cheekbones that led her vision to those intriguing brandy-colored eyes that had held her spellbound earlier in the evening.
Katherine’s fast-beating heart felt as if it stumbled in her chest. A tingling sensation rippled across her breast and then floated slowly and deliciously all the way down to her toes. A teasing warmth settled low in her abdomen. There was no use trying to deny the potent power of his masculinity. She’d never been so intensely aware of a man and found she couldn’t look away from the eyes that seemed to have the capacity to see into the depths of her soul.
The Earl of Greyhawke was tall and powerfully built, but nothing about him looked like a beast. Nothing about him seemed scary, yet she sensed he was a danger to her sensibilities.
“Good evening, Miss Wright,” he said, pulling out his chair. “We meet again.”
The Earl of Greyhawke smiled down at her as he bent to fit his tall, muscular frame into the small chair. As he did, he accidentally knocked the table, sending her cane clattering to the floor. She immediately reached down to collect it, and while she was coming up, the back of her head bumped his chin as he was reaching down to pick up the cane.
“Ouch,” she whispered.
“Ugh,” he grunted.
And together they both whispered, “My apologies.”
She looked around to see if her uncle or anyone else might have seen or heard their mishap, but there was so much chatter and scraping of chairs as others seated themselves that no one
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