The Reasons For Marriage. Stephanie LaurensЧитать онлайн книгу.
To her consternation, Eversleigh leaned closer, his narrowed eyes casting a silver net she could not escape. He loomed over her, around her; never in her life had she felt so helpless.
His eyes searched hers. “You don’t wish to marry.” The words were enunciated slowly, quietly, but were all the more definite for that. “You hide your delights beneath heavy cambric and hope no one will see enough to be interested.”
Lenore wished she could shake her head but Eversleigh’s compelling gaze prevented prevarication. She summoned a glare. “I see no reason why any man should be interested in me, Your Grace.”
The reaction to that was not what she had hoped. A slow smile twisted Eversleigh’s lips. He shifted, bringing one large hand up to take a large pinch of her clothing, just above the yoke of her gown. Deliberately, he gave the material a brisk twitch, back and forth.
Lenore’s shocked gasp filled the room. Her eyes flew wide at the excruciating sensation of her gown shifting over her tightened nipples. Horrified, she batted his hand away.
“Permit me to inform you, Miss Lester, that you have a severely proscribed understanding of the basis of male interest. I suggest you extend your studies before you come to any conclusions.”
“As I have no intention of marrying, I have absolutely no interest in such topics, Your Grace!”
Her declaration focused Eversleigh’s attention dramatically. His penetrating gaze bored into her eyes, his expression hardened. Flushed, Lenore held her own, but she could see nothing in the steel of his eyes to give her any clue to his thoughts.
Then, to her considerable relief, he straightened, his hands dropping to his side.
“Miss Lester, has it occurred to you that you have been much indulged?”
Lenore drew breath, determined to keep her chin up. “Indeed, Your Grace. My father and brothers are most supportive.”
“They have been slack, Miss Lester.” Without warning, he caught her chin on the edge of one large hand, keeping her face turned up to his. The grey eyes once more roamed her features. Lenore could not breathe. His expression was stern, almost forbidding. “Your father and brothers have not done their duty by you. A woman of your intelligence and beauty is wasted outside marriage.”
“That is not my opinion, Your Grace.”
“I am aware of that, my dear. We shall have to see what can be done to change it.”
Paralysed, Lenore stared up at him. Startled conjecture vied with a strange, breathless, senseless yearning, a panoply of thoughts and sensations buffeting her brain. She could think of nothing to say.
The door opened.
“Oh! Excuse me, Miss Lenore, but I’ve come to do the menus.”
Twisting her chin from Eversleigh’s grasp, Lenore peeked around him and saw her housekeeper, Mrs. Hobbs, standing uncertainly in the doorway. “Er…yes. Lord Eversleigh and I were just examining the lock of this cupboard. It was stuck.” With a warning glance at Eversleigh, Lenore turned towards her desk.
“Ah, well,” said Mrs. Hobbs, ambling forward, a large bundle of old menus and receipts clutched to her ample bosom. “I’d better get John to take a look at it, then.”
“No, no. It’s working now.” Lenore cast a desperate glance at Eversleigh, praying he would behave himself and depart.
To her relief, he swept her a graceful bow. “I’m pleased to have been of assistance, my dear. If you have any other difficulties that are within the scope of my poor abilities to cure, pray feel free to call on my talents.”
Lenore’s eyes narrowed. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
Jason smiled, his wolf’s smile, and turned to the door. On the threshold, he paused, glancing back to see Lenore close her account book and lay it aside, then draw a pile of menus towards her.
“Miss Lester?”
Lenore looked up. “Yes, Your Grace?”
A long finger pointed at the corner of her desk. “Your spectacles, my dear.”
Swallowing a curse, Lenore grabbed the delicate frames and arranged them on her nose, then glanced up, but her tormentor had gone.
“Now. For lunch I’d thought to have…”
Stifling a wholly unexpected sigh, Lenore gave her attention to Mrs. Hobbs.
An hour later, she was staring out of the window, her account book open before her, the ink dry on her nib, when Amelia’s head appeared around the door.
“There you are! I’d despaired of finding you.”
Lenore returned her cousin’s bright smile, laying aside her pen as Amelia crossed the room to subside into the armchair before the desk in a froth of apricot muslin. “I take it last evening passed without incident?”
Amelia waved the question aside. “You were right. They’re a perfectly manageable lot. All except Eversleigh. I wouldn’t care to have to manage him. But His Grace had taken himself off somewhere. Truth to tell, I retired early myself.” She turned to look at Lenore. “I looked for you but couldn’t find you anywhere.”
Lenore shut her account book with a snap. “I was detained on the terrace.”
“Oh? By what?”
“A discussion of the relative merits of present and past civilisations, as I recall.”
Amelia grimaced. “One of your dry discussions, I take it?”
Calmly sorting her papers, Lenore did not respond.
“Anyway, you’ll be pleased to know I took care of one of your hostessly chores for you.”
“Oh?”
“The Melton sisters. They had quite worn down poor Mr. Marshall; I had to rescue him. And that reminds me.” Amelia swung about, bright brown eyes dancing. “I’ve discovered why Eversleigh’s here!”
Lenore’s hands stilled. “Why?” she asked, hoping Amelia would not detect the breathlessness that had laid siege to her voice.
“Mr. Marshall told me that Eversleigh is dreading the prospect of facing all the matchmaking mamas. I do believe he’s here rusticating, recouping his energies before returning to town and facing his fate. He’s got six aunts, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Lenore murmured, her thoughts elsewhere. When Amelia turned an enquiring gaze on her, she added, “They’re friends of Harriet’s.” Lenore cleared her throat. “What sort of woman do you think Eversleigh will marry?”
“A diamond of the first water,” Amelia promptly declared. “Whoever of the latest lot fills that description and is suitably connected. It’s what’s expected, after all. And, for once, Eversleigh seems intent on fulfilling expectations.”
Lenore nodded and sank into silence.
After a few moments, her expression pensive, her fingers pleating the ribbons of her gown, Amelia asked, “Tell me, do you know much of Mr. Marshall?”
The question drew Lenore from her own thoughts to gaze in surprise at her friend. “Just how long did it take to rescue him last night?”
Amelia blushed. “Well, I couldn’t just leave the poor man—he was parched for entertainment. Those Melton girls might be very pretty, but widgeons, my dear.”
Lenore’s lips twitched. “I thought you were here to avoid that sort of thing?”
Amelia looked pained. “I came here to avoid being pursued, Lenore. As far as I know, Frederick Marshall has never pursued a woman in his life.”
Putting her head on one side, Lenore acknowledged that truth. “I had heard that. Odd, given