My Favorite Marquess. Alexandra BassettЧитать онлайн книгу.
I?” He rubbed thoughtfully at the beard stubbling his chin. “I noticed that you were quite unable to take your eyes off me during our journey.”
“How would you know where I was looking? You were racing ahead of me so that I could hardly keep up.”
“And yet whenever I glanced back at you, you were looking at me.”
“You are not only an evil rogue, but a vain buffoon as well. Where else was I supposed to look when you glared at me through that mask?” She snorted. “And while we are on the subject, why wear a mask at all if you are so certain of your irresistible appeal to the female sex? Are you a coward?”
He crossed his arms. “You have about thirty seconds to begin removing that rag you are wearing, Highness.”
“It wasn’t a rag until you got hold of it. It was brand new, as a matter of fact, and I’ll have you know, it was all the crack!”
“Ten seconds, Your Highness.”
Violet threw one final look of disgust at him and began to undo the buttons down the front of her dress. When she was ready to remove it, she insisted that he turn toward the wall while she scrambled for the blanket. He took the opportunity to take another sip from his flask. As the brandy burned down his throat he began to feel somewhat human again.
His admiration of her tart tongue only went so far, especially since he was growing chilled standing out in the cold without his shirt. Damn. They would need each other’s warmth as well as the blanket before the night was over.
Surprisingly, she said not a word as he approached. Her back was to him and she held herself rigidly aloof as he slipped under the other half of the blanket. He noticed that she had left him as much of it as possible while still keeping herself decently covered.
But her restraint didn’t help. They were still touching, and her shapely body could not help but have an unfortunate effect on him. She was so soft! She had kept on her silk shift, but it was almost dry. Some devilish part of him wanted to order her to remove that, too…though he supposed he should be grateful for her leaving that much of a barrier between them.
She shifted uncomfortably and brushed his leg with hers. He gritted his teeth.
Somehow he hadn’t thought it was going to be this hard to lie with her on the floor of an uncomfortable cave. Of course, he was only just now, in the flickering candlelight, beginning to realize the depth of beauty possessed by this woman. She had hair like spun gold, beautiful fair skin, and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. It was as if some Italian portraitist had dreamed her out of whole cloth—until she opened her mouth. Then it struck him anew that looks and demeanor did not always make a perfect match.
Perhaps if he could keep her talking, he would be completely cured of this blasted attraction he was feeling.
“Feeling cozy, Highness?”
Her only answer was a tsk and more shattering movement. She was shivering from cold or fear, he wasn’t sure which. He pulled out his flask and took another, longer tug from it.
Then he got a bright idea. He reached over and poked her in the back. “Here, you better have some of this.”
She turned, and her nose wrinkled. “No, thank you.”
“It will warm you up.” Perhaps it would put her to sleep, too.
She sniffed. “Ladies do not imbibe strong spirits.”
“Bosh! ’Tis no different than wine.”
“You would say that!”
He let out a chortle. “I haven’t noticed many of the fairer sex avoiding the wine bottle at dinner.”
Her brow arched. “Do you attend many dinner parties, Mr. Brute?”
He had to stop himself from clapping his hand on his skull. He would have to take care. “Nay, but I know real women. The kind who aren’t afraid of doing what’s necessary to survive.”
In her irritation she sat up and faced him. “What are you saying? That just because one is a gentlewoman, one lacks the ability to take care of oneself?”
“A smart woman would drink to ward off the cold.”
As she looked at the flask, she shrugged her shoulders (causing one creamy breast to almost spill over the top of her shift, he noted with unwilling interest). “Fine, give it to me. I always did want to know what men found so irresistible in hard drink.” She took a long draught. As the brandy reached her gullet, the color completely leeched from her. Then, just as suddenly, she turned scarlet. For a moment, tears stood in her eyes, and when she spoke, her nonchalance was belied by her strangled voice. “As I always suspected, nothing special.”
He forced himself to bite back a laugh at her bravado. “Go ahead—have another sip.”
She choked as she took another mouthful, then sat still for a moment as the fiery liquid worked its magic. “It does give one a warming sensation, doesn’t it?”
He nodded.
She blinked at him and laughed a little. “I feel flushed.”
After her third sip, which was more of a glug, Sebastian reached for his flask. “I think that’s enough for you, Your Highness.”
She held it from his grasp. “Not so fast. For your information, I have decided to start living my life the way I see fit. And right now I’m still thirsty!” She took another drink and quietly hiccupped.
Uh-oh, Sebastian thought. He wasn’t sure he wanted her to get tipsy. “You don’t want to be selfish, though, do you?” he asked, trying to pry the flask out of her hand.
As a compromise, she tipped the bottle to his lips and allowed him a short sip and then went back to drinking down the contents herself.
Maybe if I can get her talking, he thought. Maybe she would forget about the flask.
“You said you would start living life as you see fit,” he said. “Has your life previously been out of your own control or such a trial?” He couldn’t imagine that this was so. And yet, beneath her pampered, icy exterior there seemed to be a hint of vulnerability.
She thought for a moment. “No, I had a very happy childhood, very free, but that all ended when I was twelve and sent off to school. My second day there I overheard the other girls laughing at me because my father was in trade. After that, I vowed to become the most perfect lady that Mrs. Pargeter’s Academy for Young Ladies ever turned out. And I was, too!” Her head wobbled a bit. “Till now.”
“It seems to me that you chose that path for yourself,” Sebastian pointed out. “You didn’t have to give in to the prejudice of a bunch of silly girls.”
“Oh, you think so?” Violet answered angrily. “Well, let me tell you that Mrs. Pargeter’s rules of propriety were nothing compared to those that governed me during my first Season in London! Once again, as the daughter of a merchant I was examined twice as closely as other girls.”
“And were you as great a success as you had been at your school?” he asked leadingly.
“No, not really,” Violet admitted, deflating slightly. “I was there under the auspices of my aunt Augusta, who is considered very good ton, but somehow, I just didn’t seem to take. The only interest I received that first spring was from fortune hunters. Aunt Augusta kept telling me to show more vivacity, but it’s hard to be ladylike and sparkling at the same time. At least it is for me.”
“So where does your lamented husband fall into this scenario?”
Belatedly, he remembered that the Brute would know nothing of her bereaved state.
Luckily Violet was in no condition to notice the lapse. She seemed off in a world of her own now. “I didn’t meet Percy until my second Season. He had missed my come out year because of a case of the mumps. Percy was always of delicate