Dangerous Gifts by Mary Jo Putney Read Free Book Online Page A

well.”
    Leah’s heart began to beat in triple time. The voice, the height and build—this was the man who had rescued her from the Duke of Hardcastle. “Thank you,” she said, amazed at how steady her voice sounded. “You’re Duncan Townley, and I am Leah Marlowe. Since my godmother intended to introduce us, we can now say that the formalities have been duly performed.”
    As soon as she spoke, his brows drew together in puzzlement. He must find her voice familiar also. How foolish of her to think that it would be possible to pretend their first meeting had never happened. She continued, “Besides, we have already met, in the garden of Hardcastle House. I am very much in your debt, Captain Townley.”
    “So it was you,” he exclaimed. “With your voice like singing bells.” His gaze was almost fierce in its intensity. “Hardcastle’s behavior was despicable—but I understand better now why he forgot himself as he did.”
    Leah blushed, and wished that she hadn’t. With this man, she cared about the impression she made. Cared desperately. He was glorious, the most attractive male creature she’d ever seen, except for Lord Ranulph, who was too alien to affect her heart.
    Dear God, Duncan Townley couldn’t be faery, could he? Her gaze shot up as she looked to see if his eyes were the same emerald green that showed in her own mirror. She exhaled with relief when she saw that they were a rare and striking transparent gold. Not green, thank heaven.
    She must say something before he decided that she was an idiot. Casting about for a topic of conversation, she said, “My godmother says you are a hero of Waterloo.”
    Wrong topic. His golden eyes darkened. “I simply did my duty. There were many heroes that day, and too many of them are now dead.”
    The tan skin tightened over his face, revealing the fine line of a newly healed scar over his sculptured cheekbone. She guessed that it had been made by the slice of a saber. He might have been killed or blinded, but instead, the scar enhanced the rugged masculinity of his appearance.
    The thought of him being wounded brought the reality of war to her as newspaper stories never had. On impulse, she stood and lightly touched the scar. Since her gloves were still off, there was an intimate contact of skin to skin. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It must be bitter to lose so many of your friends, and then be acclaimed when they have been forgotten.”
    The warmth returned to his eyes. With utter simplicity, he turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand. “Thank you for understanding.”
    The touch of his lips sent fire shivering through her, warming deep places that she had not known existed. This was what she had longed for, she realized dazedly. The first tentative recognition between two souls that, God willing, would lead to love.
    Without haste she lowered her hand. “I should return to the ballroom. My godmother would not be happy to learn that I was alone with a man.” She made a face. “You know what happened the last time.”
    His brows arched. “Do you think I am like the Duke of Hardcastle?”
    She considered flirting to keep him at a distance, but decided that it was already too late for that. “No. You are unlike anyone I have ever met.”
    For a moment, there was an expression that seemed almost like pain in his golden eyes. Then he smiled. “You’re right that it is time to return to the ballroom. The next dance is a waltz, and you will dance it with me.”
    The thought of being held in his arms sent a delicious shiver through her, but she shook her head regretfully. “I’m sorry, this waltz is spoken for.” She lifted her fan from the pianoforte and studied the sticks, where she had written the names of her partners. “Sir Amos Rowley, I believe.”
    “What a pity that you lost your fan.” Duncan plucked the fragile object from her hand, then folded it neatly and tucked it inside his coat. “I shall gallantly volunteer to see