A Rose at Midnight by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online Page B

keeping her snugly by his side. “I happen to like having Ellen paw me,” he said lazily. “And unless you intend to kiss me, Carmichael, there’s plenty of room left for you to greet me. I am rather large, you know.”
    “A mountain.” Carmichael, whose diminutive height was a sore point with him, sniffed, even as he pumped Tony’s hand with enthusiasm. “It’s good to see you, Tony.”
    “Good to see you, Carmichael. And especially good to see Ellen,” he said, reaching down his large hand and tucking it under Ellen’s chin, tilting her face up to his. “How’ve you been, chickie? I haven’t seen you in town these ages.”
    “I’ve been rusticating, Tony. Town’s no place for me nowadays. There are too many people still looking for husbands. I don’t want to crowd the lists.”
    “Lord, Ellen, next thing I know you’ll be wearing little lace caps and sitting in the comer gossiping with all the old maids,” he said, shaking his head. “Promise me you’ll never go that far.”
    “I promise,” she said, smiling up at him. He was right, he was a mountain. A huge, loose-limbed giant of a man, he was taller than almost everyone on the London scene, with the possible exception of Harry de Quincy, and Harry didn’t count because he was all fat. Tony hadn’t a spare ounce of flesh on him, and every part of him was solid, implacable muscle. He needed no padding in his exquisitely tailored waistcoats, no sawdust in his clocked stockings. He was just a great deal of very solid, very handsome, very indolent male. His waist beneath her arms felt warm and hard, and she was suddenly self-conscious again.
    This time he let her go, with only a quizzical glance in her direction as she sat down on the garden bench again, pulling her shawl around her shoulders. His face was a fitting complement to his body. Handsome, somewhat lazy, with a defiant beak of a nose, strong chin, marked cheekbones, and curiously dark eyebrows at odds with his golden-blond hair. Since he almost always had a smile on his wide mouth, he seemed the gentlest of men. If Ellen had the thought that he could be anything but, she had nothing on which to base that suspicion. Just instinct, and an occasional intense expression in his otherwise limpid, smiling gray eyes.
    He took a seat beside her. “So why have you come to visit Carmichael? Just an overwhelming longing for your dear brother’s company?”
    Both Ellen and Carmichael snorted in unison. “I had no choice in the matter, Tony,” she said, pleating her orchid-hued skirt. “Carmichael decided to let Nicholas Blackthorne stay at Ainsley Hall while he waited to see whether his latest duel was a killing affair. And he refused to let me stay. It’s absurd, when a woman reaches a certain age, that she’s still considered compromisable, but Carmichael decided to be stuffy.”
    “Thank heavens for that,” Tony said lazily. “You are still eminently compromisable, Ellen, and you probably will be when you’re in your dotage. I hope you’re not about to race off the moment I arrive. I’ve brought you presents.”
    “Presents?” she demanded, her old childhood greed returning full force. When she was young her brother’s friend Tony had never appeared without a box of French chocolates and a pile of books for her. As she grew old the chocolates remained, but the books were now French novels, filled with slightly risqué romances.
    “Gunter’s best chocolates. This time I brought you two boxes. I missed your birthday.”
    “At my advanced age birthdays should be missed. Besides, I think I’d do better without too many chocolates.” She looked down disparagingly at her plump curves. “I’m always asking Gilly to cook something slimming, and she keeps serving me sauces that are so delicious I can’t resist them.”
    “Let us hope she continues to do so,” Tony said, stretching his immensely long legs out in front of him. “You’re perfect as you are, chickie. A plump, delicious