Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman. Julia JustissЧитать онлайн книгу.
Amanda only a quick dagger glance, Althea refocused her attention on Anders. ‘Do try the ham and cheese, it’s quite good,’ she coaxed. ‘Shall I assist you? Allow me to carry your plate.’
Goodness, Althea was acting as if their guest were an invalid or a child still in the nursery. Amanda’s experience with gentleman was limited mostly to her brother, but she knew George would hate to be coddled in such a manner. ‘Mr Anders probably prefers to fix his own plate, Althea,’ she said in as light a tone as possible.
It didn’t answer; the girl flashed her a resentful look. ‘I know he’s capable. I just want to help, if he wishes it.’
‘That’s most kind of you, Miss Holton, but I think I can manage,’ Anders replied, tactfully forestalling any further exchange. ‘I admit to being eager to try more of your cook’s skill. If the exceptional breakfast sent up this morning is any indication, you keep a fine table, Miss Neville. That is, I understand you run the household yourself? And do so with admirable skill for a lady so young.’
‘Yes, Amanda’s a paragon of organisation, as anyone at Ashton Grove will tell you. An exemplary manager and a beauty! No doubt she’ll have suitors lined up in the street when she makes her come-out in London this spring.’ Though the words themselves were matter of fact, Althea’s tone implied her disdain at such a goal.
Mr Anders either did not sense that, or chose to ignore it, merely replying, ‘So you will go to London, then?’
‘Yes, I hope to,’ Amanda replied. At least one of the ladies present could be politely brief, she thought with annoyance.
‘Indeed, Amanda can’t wait to escape the country!’ Althea exclaimed. ‘Whereas I think Ashton Grove is wonderful, and so rich in history. The original part of the house dates from the late fourteenth century. I’d be delighted to show you around—when you are sufficiently rested, Mr Anders,’ she added, directing another pointed look at Amanda.
‘After I sample some of that ham and cheese, I may take you up on that kind offer, Miss Holton,’ Anders said.
Althea insisted on walking to the sideboard with him, pointing out other dishes and offering to hold his plate or fetch him coffee. Amanda had to admit, Anders bore those ministrations with patience, tinged, if the wink he sent her over the girl’s head was any indication, with good humour.
Returning to the table, he seated himself beside Althea as requested. Eating slowly, occasionally closing his eyes as if truly savouring the food, he continued to focus a flattering amount of attention on the girl.
Amanda couldn’t fault his manners, and his conversation was skilful, too. With a few well-chosen phrases, he led Althea to describe Ashton Grove, the pleasant walks and rides to be had in the area, the fishing and hunting available, the route one took to reach the Devon coast, the beautiful red cliffs at Salcombe by the Coastal Brigade station at Salters Bay.
Probably he was Stanhope’s cousin after all. She’d love to enquire about that relationship—when she could do so with more polite discretion than Althea was displaying.
Not required to add a syllable to the discussion, Amanda settled back to simply observing Anders. Which, she had to admit, was certainly no hardship.
The improvement in his looks from the bearded, grimy man she’d met in the entry two days ago was little short of amazing. Though the limp was gone, he walked a bit stiffly, testament to the fact that he was still not fully recovered. In spite of that impediment, there was a sinuous, almost feline quality to his movements.
Something about his rangy grace recalled to her mind the jungle cats she’d seen as a girl in the Royal Menagerie—sleek and feral. Despite the subtle signs of injury, Mr Anders still radiated a sense of self-confidence and power.
This was not a man to tangle with, that prowling stance said, but one who would protect what was his and hold his own in a fight. Free to roam about as the menagerie beasts were not, she suspected Mr Anders might prove even more dangerous.
From the deliberate way he was holding the fork in his left hand and the rigid angle of his arm, she surmised that his wound must be on that side. Speculating about the size and location of the injury hidden beneath the coat led her to imagining how his chest might look, stripped of clothing.
That image sparked such a strong, unsettling flash of sensation in her belly that she immediately shut down the thought. Taking a steadying breath, she turned her gaze instead to a covert study of his profile.
He possessed a straight, classical nose and the lips of a Greek sculpture. A determined chin, against which he was tapping one tanned finger, bronzed, no doubt, from performing all manner of tasks in heat and sun, as the calloused palm would also attest. At his brow and temples, a luxuriant curl of auburn hair, now cut and fashionably styled, inspired in her the oddest desire to run her fingers through it.
At the thought of him running one of his tanned hands through her unbound hair, she felt a little shiver. Despite the ravages worked upon him by his service at sea and his wounds, Mr Anders was still a strikingly well-made gentleman.
Unfortunately.
Though she had scarcely more acquaintance with personable gentlemen than her cousin, she was older and, she hoped, less impressionable than Althea, yet when Mr Anders had appeared on the threshold a few moments ago, he’d nearly stolen her breath. If Amanda didn’t mistake the look on her cousin’s face, now gazing up at their guest raptly, Althea had developed an instantaneous tendre for the man she’d already been predisposed to admire for his military connections.
How was Amanda going to prevent her impetuous cousin from hanging on Mr Anders’s sleeve, chattering in his ear and trying to accompany him on every walk, stroll or ride he took on Ashton Grove land and elsewhere?
‘Have I dripped egg on my coat, Miss Neville?’
Startled out of her reverie, Amanda realised Mr Anders’s deep-green eyes were now focused on her, his amused expression announcing he’d caught her staring at him. Quickly she averted her gaze, while, to her added discomfort, she felt a blush mounting her cheeks.
‘I don’t think so,’ Althea replied before she could respond. ‘If you had, she would have told you so directly. Amanda is a stickler for propriety and proper behaviour.’
‘Proper’ meaning dull, Althea’s tone said. Amanda suppressed a sigh and hoped her expression didn’t betray her irritation. Althea’s obvious attempt to disparage her in front of the object of her fascination might be humorous if it were not so annoying—and disquieting proof of just how mesmerised the girl already was.
‘For a young lady about to make her début, being a stickler for propriety is an unfortunate necessity, or so I’ve been told,’ came Mr Anders’s surprising reply. ‘It’s quite unfair that gentleman are allowed great freedom of behaviour, while ladies, especially unmarried ones, are so restricted.’
Amanda risked a quick, covert glance at his face, which seemed serious rather than mocking. It was only polite of him to have so deftly deflected Althea’s criticism, but could it be possible he really understood the truth of his remark?
Or was he just vastly experienced at leading young ladies astray? As of yet, she knew absolutely nothing about his character. Compellingly attractive as he was injured, she imagined his charm would be quite devastating when he was fully recovered. A rogue-in-sheep’s clothing, who cloaked illicit designs in properly conventional speeches, would be as dangerous to Althea’s heart and reputation as those jungle cats loosed among Ashton Grove cattle.
The idea of having to tangle wits with the gentleman to protect her cousin sent a sharp, and deeply disturbing, tingle of anticipation rippling through Amanda.
She struggled to suppress it, reminding herself that, alluring as he might be, even if Anders were the gentleman he seemed, his present circumstances rendered him entirely ineligible as a suitable companion for either her or Althea.
Meanwhile, her cousin eagerly latched on to his