The Courtesan's Courtship. Gail RanstromЧитать онлайн книгу.
begs that you return tomorrow at a…” the woman colored again and took a deep breath “…at a respectable hour.”
It took him a full minute to comprehend the enormity of that insult. It was his house, by God! And she was living on his charity! How dare she refuse to see him? Had she no manners at all?
“Thank you, Mrs. Mason,” he said, trying to keep his voice even and calm. He dismissed the woman with a wave of his hand and finished his brandy in a single gulp.
Another brandy followed the first as he considered how to respond to her haughtiness. In the end, he was confounded. There was only one way to handle Miss Lovejoy.
He took the stairs two at a time, seething with indignation. Two sharp raps on her door were all the warning he gave before opening it and stepping through. She was sitting in an overstuffed chair with her legs curled beneath her and the pages of a letter in her lap. She looked up in surprise.
“Miss Lovejoy, when I request an interview with you, I expect to be accommodated.”
She blinked those wide blue eyes. “As you can see, Lord Morgan, I am scarcely in a condition to receive visitors.”
There was nothing wrong with her condition as far as he could see. Her pale blond hair, most often done up in a formal style or tucked beneath a bonnet, was loose and fell over her shoulders, to tumble down her back. A wealth of midnight-blue fabric swathed her form, leaving a deep V open from her neck to a spot midway between her breasts, where a film of white lace peeked through. No, her “condition” was quite acceptable. At least to him.
“I do not care what condition you are in. Common courtesy would dictate that you receive me.”
She unfolded her legs, revealing bare feet. The deep blue fabric shifted to drape over her form most alluringly as she stood. He recognized the garment as his dressing robe. The cuffs had been rolled back several times, and the hem made a little puddle at her feet. The sight gave him such a sudden visceral reaction that he instantly stiffened with desire. He was jealous of his damn robe! He wanted to wrap himself around her, fall heavily over the soft swells of her breasts, get tangled between her long shapely legs.
He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.
She stood, the pages of her letter drifting to the carpet with a soft whisper, and performed a mocking curtsy. “My pardon, Lord Morgan. I had thought your offer of shelter was given without pain of favors. Now that I know better, I shall, of course, leave.”
“The hell you will,” he cursed. “Where do you think you could go? You will simply treat me with due courtesy and respect. In short, as you would treat anyone else in the same circumstances.”
“You are not ‘anyone else.’ You are a reprobate who gambled to win my friend in marriage. Your quarrel nearly got my cousin killed. And because of you, Mr. Lucas is dead. You care for nothing but yourself. I only accepted your help because I do not care what happens to you, and, to be frank, all your money will not buy you respectability.”
“There were reasons for that wager, Miss Lovejoy.”
“You take other people’s fortunes on the turn of a card,” she accused.
“I force no one to risk so much as a farthing. ’Tis their choice, and if I do not take it, someone else will.”
“You nearly got my cousin killed!”
“Your cousin, of his own accord, lunged between me and a dishonorable shot from my opponent’s second when my back was turned.” She looked so like an avenging angel that Geoff felt guilty, though he couldn’t have said for what. He’d be damned if he was about to explain anything further to this piece of fluff who thought him guilty of all sorts of misdeeds.
She lifted her pert little nose in high moral indignation. “I’ve no doubt at all that you can explain everything away, Lord Morgan, but I’ve no interest in hearing excuses. Now, why have you come to my room?”
She had him in such a state that it actually took him a moment to recall why he’d come. “Miss Brookes’s funeral, Miss Lovejoy. I saw you there.”
He detected a crack in her hard veneer. She turned and walked slowly toward the fireplace, speaking over her shoulder. “Why should I not have gone? After all, I was the one to find her.”
“And the one the authorities are looking for. I thought you were smart enough to stay out of sight.”
“I thought I had. I was swathed in black mourning and heavily veiled. How did you recognize me, Lord Morgan? I doubt my own sister would have.”
He could hardly tell her he had recognized her figure and the way she moved. It would never do to let her know the effect she was having on him. She was already too sure of herself. He would have to settle on something more vague. “Perhaps you are not as clever as you thought.”
She halted and her spine stiffened. “Then I suppose I shall have to be more careful.”
“I’d advise it, Miss Lovejoy, though staying out of sight entirely would be preferable.”
“I believe we’ve had this discussion before, Lord Morgan. Do I not recall you saying that you ‘make it your policy to never interfere in the personal matters of others, nor to question their actions or motives’?”
“That was before you were being so widely sought.”
“Nevertheless, giving me shelter does not grant you the right to dictate my actions. Disavow yourself of that notion. If you are unable to do so I shall have to leave, because I do not intend to sit docilely by while the police make a case against me. Since no one else has come forward to do it, I shall champion myself.”
Was she suggesting that he should champion her? Surely not. She’d made it obvious that she could not even bear the sight of him. Perhaps he could reason with her. “Did you learn anything new today, Miss Lovejoy?”
“Well, no. I only spoke with one person, and she was not at liberty to…that is, she—”
“Wouldn’t tell you anything,” he finished for her. “And what does that tell you?”
“That people are afraid to talk.”
“That people are unwilling to talk to you,” he corrected. “You cannot expect those close to a murder to simply begin blurting every little detail they might recall. Investigation requires a little more finesse than that, Miss Lovejoy. You are far too naive to know how to go about this sort of thing.”
She finally turned toward him and smiled. “I have a new plan. One that will open doors for me and answer whatever questions I have. And, by the by, what were you doing at Miss Brookes’s funeral?”
Damn. “Where I go and what I do is none of your concern, Miss Lovejoy. Just stay out of my way.”
“Nor is what I do or where I go yours, Lord Morgan. And I shall be quite pleased to stay out of your way. Now, are you going to toss me out of your house on my ear?”
“You know I won’t,” he growled. “And you’re counting on that. But once your cousin is back—”
“All bets are off,” she finished for him with a wicked little quirk of her lips.
Oh! That impossible man! He leaves me alone for days, then simply appears in the middle of the night, demanding to see me, and telling me what to do!
Dianthe tossed her brush aside and stared at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. What was it about her that brought out the worst in that man? What was it in him that brought out the worst in her? She made a little moue in the mirror.
If forced to the truth, she would have to admit that Geoffrey Morgan had been as kind to her as she had allowed, and she hadn’t made even that easy for him. There was just something about him that set her on edge. Was it that he didn’t fawn over her like other men? Or that most of the time he just seemed annoyed by her?
She