A Growing Passion by Emma Wildes Read Free Book Online

arm, which unfortunately jostled Cecily’s elbow and resulted in a slosh of champagne across her chest. The culprit was oblivious, even when she made an inarticulate sound of dismay. This was the first time she’d worn this gown, and blue silk and champagne were not a good mixture. Several droplets trickled between her breasts.
    “Allow me.”
    Glancing up, she looked into the darkest eyes she had ever seen, belonging to a tall man tugging a linen handkerchief from his coat pocket. She recognized him at once, for all of the haut ton was whispering over the arrival of the Jonathan Bourne, the new Earl of Augustine—partly because of his exotic background and partly due to his striking looks.
    “Thank you,” she said gratefully, though she was a bit off balance at having the full attention of London’s current most notorious and eligible—no one denied the Bourne fortune—earl.
    Except he didn’t hand her the snowy white square. Instead he leaned forward and, in the middle of a fashionable crush in a London ballroom, audaciously wiped away the untimely spill himself.
    Startled, Cecily felt the brush of the fine material across her throat and the upper swells of her breasts, the gesture almost an intimate caress. It was as if he’d touched her without the benefit of the thin piece of linen between her damp skin and his long fingers, and she could not help but blush, the heat rising into her cheeks.
    “You are welcome.” He tucked the handkerchief away, his expression amused.
    A very shocked part of her could not believe he’d just done something so outrageous in front of witnesses, and another wayward part of her was fascinated by the impact of his male beauty. He was sinfully dark, from his sleek ebony hair, currently constrained fashionably in a queue, to those seductive eyes, to his bronze skin. His unusual coloring aside, his bone structure was finely modeled—arched brows, straight nose, slightly square chin . . . and his lower lip a bit fuller, giving his mouth a sensual cast.
    He looked foreign, and his accent confirmed it.
    The quirk of his smile told her he had a very good idea of his impact on her also––not quite arrogant but certainly full of male self-assurance.
    That sort of flagrant masculinity was not an English trait, as if the well-cut coat and fitted breeches were part of a disguise. It didn’t matter that his cravat was perfectly tied and secured with a glittering diamond stickpin, or that his boots were obviously custom-made and polished to a high sheen.
    Somehow he still managed to give the impression that he was . . . untamed. Exotic. Perhaps even uncivilized despite all the trappings of gentility.
    Then he made matters worse by leaning forward, close enough that his breath was warm against her ear. “You have turned a very delicious shade of pink, my lady. But console yourself with the knowledge I would much rather have licked it off, so my handkerchief was actually a polite choice.” He paused at her slight gasp over that audacious comment. Then he executed a formal bow. “Good evening.”
    He turned and walked away, past the gaping onlookers as if he didn’t even see them.
    In contrast, Cecily was all too conscious of the avid stares, among them her sister’s. Only a few feet away in the small circle of her friends, Eleanor had an expression of scandalized censure on her face.
    Surely it was best to act as if the brief moment hadn’t happened? Cecily joined the now silent group. “Such a crush,” she said brightly, but she knew her cheeks were still flame bright.
    Eleanor, however, was not quite as willing to ignore what had just happened. “I wasn’t aware you knew Lord Augustine,” she said pointedly. Two years older, Eleanor was in her second season, her first having been marked by her refusal of several offers of marriage, and not exactly a success. Her older sister was a great deal more voluptuous than Cecily, her hair an entirely different shade, though there was a