The Last Gamble. Anabelle BryantЧитать онлайн книгу.
hummed a lively song her mother favoured and drew a deep, cleansing breath, the morning air refreshing and crisp. How she enjoyed the absence of her corset, a luxury not afforded to ladies in London and a silly thing, really. Despite the wicked indulgence, she had no lady’s maid to lace the back so instead wore only short stays, and the personal freedom felt divine. Mother liked to tease that Georgina had received more than her fair share of bosom. Her younger sister, Joy, was slim and willowy, while Georgina was composed of curves, high, full breasts and shapely hips. Hips Mother assured would be valued when the time came for childbearing. Mother had distinct views on most everything, though Georgina remained unconvinced.
How inane the remark seemed now that she’d changed the course of her future. Then, Georgina met her mother’s comments with a fair degree of disdain. The modiste hired to sew their wardrobe preferred her sister’s figure and Georgina suspected most gentlemen did as well. At least her exit from London brought happiness to someone, albeit the dressmaker didn’t matter, did she?
Her rambling thoughts evoked a note of melancholy and obtrusive reminder of the loving affection of her family. How well she missed her parents and sister proved a tinge of regret that had stayed too much with her the past few days. As if Biscuit understood her sudden sadness, he barked, the dog more accustomed to snuggling on her lap or napping in her arms. She swept him up, tucking his petite bottom under her arm against her hip with a fair degree of irony at the convenient purposefulness of her figure.
On the fateful day in London when she’d boldly altered her future, she’d left behind a lengthy letter explaining her decisions and thus removing the responsibility and possibility of scandal from her precious parents. Surely, they were mortified by her sudden disappearance, but Georgina knew her course of action proved in everyone’s best interest despite her mother was fervently devoted to social standings and her father equally concerned with reputation. Why should they suffer the ill effects of her mistake?
After the devastating catastrophe, Georgina deliberated her withdrawal, fearful of ruin and the marring of her sister’s reputation that would ultimately crush suitable prospects for marriage. Her parents knew of her displeasure, though readily had no solution to the problem. No one predicted she’d take matters into her own hands, but it was better this way.
In that same letter, Georgina had promised her parents she would contact them once she settled, but she hadn’t kept her word as of yet. Something held her back, intangible and yet powerful all the same. Still, she wasn’t courageous enough at the moment to examine the cause for her delay.
Her thoughts continued to skip and prance from one conclusion to the next assumption as her boot heels marked steps towards the centre of town. Good heavens, perhaps Joy was engaged by now. What if someone had fallen ill? Circumstances could change greatly and she’d be woefully unaware. A wave of frustration and fear forced emotion to the forefront, but she suffocated her instant curiosity and forced her eyes ahead. Looking back was a path to heartache. She’d made a decision and would adhere to her plan. Determination showed courage rather than cowardice, didn’t it?
With serendipitous opportunity, the village market came into view. Wooden stalls mushroomed in clusters on both sides of the roadway, while wagons, pedestrians and shoppers had just begun to fill the street. She released her lingering regret to focus on the content existence she’d found in Coventry. In familiar routine, she would shop for produce and necessary groceries, greet the merchants she’d come to know, and then return to her cottage with Biscuit for a quiet evening spent reading. Grateful for the situation she’d found considering the dire circumstance she’d abandoned, she smiled and dropped a quick kiss atop the pug’s glossy head, yet the feeling of satisfaction was short-lived.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled to attention and Biscuit gave a frantic squirm in an effort to be let loose. She placed him on the ground and surveyed her surroundings, unnerved and riddled with a fickle twinge of ill ease. Too much thinking likely brought on the disquieting feeling. She best get on with her errands.
Luke trailed behind the proper Miss Smith at a reasonable distance. At first impression, she fit his preconceived notion of a governess. Her hair was pulled into a severe bun and her gown, while a lovely colour, seemed constructed for purpose rather than fashion. Her petite brown half-boots clipped the cobbles in forthright determination as she arrowed towards the centre of town with a squat pug at her feet, the dog’s curly tail bouncing with each step. She almost appeared too refined for the provincial area, but then again, what did he know about country living or prim governesses for that matter? He hadn’t a formal education of any kind and found, more often than not, he was the teacher when it came to lessons, wicked or otherwise.
Blending into the woodpile stacked beside the produce stalls, he watched as Miss Smith tested the ripeness of the apricots offered for sale. He stood not ten strides from her now, able to see her face at conveniently close proximity. His breath might have caught when she laughed at something kind the merchant said. Her eyes twinkled, sparks of blue in the dusky overhang of the stand. Here was no ordinary governess. This woman destroyed any inflexible image he’d reserved for the role; stern spinster, prude ape leader, timid wallflower or likewise.
No, Miss Smith, Georgina, fit none of these descriptions. Her hair, while gathered into a weighty bun, caught rays of sunshine to highlight strands of red mahogany threaded through chestnut tresses. How long could it be? He continued his assessment. No hardship there.
Her delicate features, elegant brows and finely formed nose offset sweet pink lips in the shape of a cupid’s bow. And her skin… Luke rubbed his fingers together in an attempt to cease the desire to smooth over her cheek, the skin looking as tender and delicious as the apricots she poked and prodded.
She leaned forward to catch a runaway fruit that tumbled towards the ground and he groaned. Her figure, composed of ample breasts and a curvaceous bottom, forced purpose from his mind for the briefest instant.
Shaking his head to clear his mind he angled closer as she paid the merchant and continued her sojourn through the stalls. He’d intended to confront her on the walk home, but now thought better of it, a more immediate action demanding attention. Would he frighten her? Desperate to obtain any information she could share about Nate, he would take the risk. He’d gamble any stakes to recover his son.
Perhaps if he approached before she left the safety of the centre surroundings, she’d feel unthreatened and more hospitable. At least that was the lie he told himself. In truth, he wanted to grab Miss Smith by the shoulders and, with a frantic shake, dislodge any clue she might hold, but he’d have no hope at all if he upset her. Unlocking this information would require nimble fingers and a delicate touch. Tricks of the trade he’d lived and breathed since childhood.
Yet he’d be smart to proceed with care. Usually things weren’t as simple as they seemed and he still didn’t know of Miss Smith’s connection to Viscount Dursley. Mayhap she’d already committed to keep the man’s malevolent secret quiet or planned to work with him in a future nefarious plot. There was no way to know and a more cautious tactic proved necessary no matter his impatience.
Georgina finished her purchases and set a quick pace towards home with Biscuit at her feet. Something had disturbed her as she shopped at the market today, though, from appearances, everything remained as always. Still, there were distinct moments when she’d paused to dash a look to her surroundings, the weight of someone’s eyes setting her pulse into a fast rhythm. Could her parents have hired a runner to find her? It seemed the only logical explanation for the unexpected anxiety she experienced. Lord Tucker had left for London days earlier and the respected gentleman wouldn’t skulk about town but address her directly had he a reason to seek her out. He practised decorum, the epitome of respectability. Furthermore, no one else knew she lived in Coventry, the admission sad by its necessity.
Dismissing her ill ease, she quickened her pace and was almost returned to her cottage when she noticed a lone man on the opposite side of the roadway, his attention trained on her every movement. Biscuit growled, his ears perked, and she bustled him into her arms as she accomplished the front steps and retrieved her key with practised alacrity. Her heart beat hard and at the same time she chided her foolish reaction