Bewitched by Sandra Schwab Read Free Book Online Page B

was silently laughing at him, mocking him.
    Impertinent chit. Who did she think she was? A little nobody dragged from the depths of the country and without any polish or style. Why, she couldn’t even play the fortepiano! The most basic of female accomplishments! He shuddered to think what would have happened if poor, deluded Drew had decided to marry the chit. Not only would she have pecked the poor chap to death with her sharp retorts, no, she also would have been a disaster as a hostess. Surely she would have turned Drew’s dinner parties into scandalous, ridiculous affairs, and thus become fodder for the gossipmongers. In all likelihood, she would have ordered her guests around like servants in the manner of that horrid dragon Lady Holland. How fortunate that Drew had seen the light of reason in time!
    No, Fox would not be sorry to see this evening wind down. Perhaps, if he were lucky, the damp, crisp autumn night would dispel his headache and he could sojourn on to merrier grounds, escape to chase away all lingering memories of this ghastly event.
    Fox half closed his eyes in sweet contemplation. He had enjoyed his time at Madame Suzette’s. The doxy into whose bed he had tumbled was much to his liking: dark and mysterious, with lush, honeyed curves that looked as if they had ripened under a hot southern sun. For a few pleasant hours a man could thoroughly lose himself in the arms of such a woman, revel in the feel of dewy soft flesh pressed intimately against his own. Not the gates to paradise, perhaps—which mortal ever found heavenly pleasures during his time on earth?-but infinitely better than listening to Lady Worthington’s shrill voice, or exchanging inane pleasantries with a friend’s bygone infatuation.
    Impossible to say how much time passed until the recess. To Fox it seemed like an eternity, all spent in musical purgatory. Wryly he remembered his words to Drew. How sad they had proven all too true. To exact revenge from Andrew Fermont, Esq. would be sweet.
    Beside him, Drew’s angelic Miss Bourne sat as if petrified.
    “Miss Bourne?”
    “That was—”
    “Rather abhorrent, I know.” And because of her, because of his promise to Andrew, the pea-goose, he wouldn’t be able to extricate himself early from this glorious musicale. “Would you care for some refreshments?”
    She turned toward him, her eyes flashing with pansy blue annoyance. “ Interesting , was what I wanted to say.”
    Gracious, what was wrong with this girl? Snapping and yapping like a rat terrier!
    “I stand corrected.” Did he mean it? No, of course not. Platitudes spilled easily from his lips. Platitudes and flirtation he had perfected during all those years among the bon ton.
    Her blond brows arched. “But faith, sir, you still sit.”
    The musical, mocking lilt of her voice grated on his nerves just as had the unmusical experience of Lady Worthington’s songs. He inclined his head. “Then I sit corrected, Miss Bourne. Now, will you allow me to accompany you to the refreshments room?” He would let Drew buy him a bottle of old, old port for this. A barrel of the stuff.
    “Else we should sit stupidly like two hens on a perch?” She stood, small and graceful, a quail rather than a hen. “By all means, let us proceed toward the punch.”
    He offered her his arm, and her gloved fingers slipped into the crook of his elbow so he could lead her away from this scene of musical criminality.
    “I assume you enjoyed the performance then?” he asked lightly, even though only the deaf could have.
    She gave him a look which made him think she probably regarded him as the greatest nidget of all mankind. “As I said, it was interesting. It’s not something you get to hear every day.”
    “And thank God for that!” he mumbled.
    Around them, the hum of voices rose and fell as if the guests had turned into a swarm of bees. “A veritable crush, is it not?” Miss Bourne purred, her voice sweeter than sticky molasses. “It makes