Talk of the Ton. Mary NicholsЧитать онлайн книгу.
“What are you going to do with me?” Beth asked.
“Oh, do not fret. I have no designs on your person,” he said.
“Then let me go.”
“That, I think, would be considered unchivalrous.”
“No more unchivalrous than holding a lady against her wishes.”
“If the lady has no idea of the danger she is in, then a gentleman has no choice.” He laughed suddenly. “Whatever made you think you could pass yourself off as a boy? A more feminine figure I have yet to meet.” His eyes roamed appreciatively over her as he spoke.
The only slightly masculine thing about her was her cut-down fingernails. He was intrigued by them. “It is a good thing I intervened when I did.”
Talk of the Ton
Harlequin®Historical
MILLS & BOON
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MARY NICHOLS
Born in Singapore, Mary Nichols came to England when she was three, and has spent most of her life in different parts of East Anglia. She has been a radiographer, a school secretary, an information officer and industrial editor, as well as a writer. She has three grown-up children and four grandchildren.
Talk of the Ton
MARY NICHOLS
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter One
The girl, sitting on a rickety chair in the potting shed watching the young man lovingly tend a delicate plant he had been nurturing, wore a pair of breeches tucked into riding boots, a cream-coloured shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a sackcloth apron. Her hair was tucked up beneath a scarf. The clothes were old and a little shabby, but that did not disguise the fact that they were well cut and had once, many years before, been the height of male fashion.
‘I wish I could go plant collecting,’ she said wistfully, watching his deft fingers. They were blunt and dirty, but she had become so used to that she didn’t even notice, any more than she was aware of her incongruous garb and the fact that her own fingernails were far from pristine.
‘So you can. The heath is covered in plants, if you look carefully.’
‘No, I meant exploring in foreign countries, climbing the Himalayas or trekking through China or riding a donkey in Mexico.’ Her interest in botany had been fired when, as a small girl, she had watched Joshua Pershore, their gardener, working in their garden. ‘Plants are like people,’ he had told her. ‘Look after them and they will reward you with years of pleasure.’
She had asked him if she could have a patch of garden all to herself and he had shown her how to prepare the soil and sow seed and divide plants to make more. She had watched her garden grow, excitedly noting the first snowdrop, the delicate petals of roses and the way the bulbs died down each year and sprang up anew the next spring. And when she discovered that Toby also shared her passion, it forged a bond between them that sometimes carried them into the realms of fantasy.
She dreamed of emulating the great plant hunters like Sir Joseph Banks, who had travelled with Captain Cook and transformed the Royal gardens at Kew from a pleasure ground to a great botanic garden with specimens