How I Met My Countess by Elizabeth Boyle Read Free Book Online Page A

in sharp retort, but that would only lead to an explanation of her mother.
    A subject Lucy avoided at all costs, and she was glad for the silence that fell between them.
    At least for a moment or so.
    “How nice of your father to allow me the pleasure of your company this afternoon,” he said, picking up their lapsed conversation. “It afforded me an opportunity to speak to you … alone .”
    Alone ? The word ruffled down her spine.
    Goodness gracious, whatever could this man want to say to her alone that he hadn’t said already?
    Perhaps he wanted to comment on how she’d had his shirts starched. Twice. Or was it three times … she’d lost count.
    She smiled back at him, bracing herself for another overbearing request.
    “Miss Lucy—” he began.
    Here it comes …
    “I fear we’ve gotten off to a bad start,” he continued. “And I believe it is entirely my fault.”
    Lucy blinked. Had she heard him correctly? That sounded suspiciously like an apology. She glanced up and stared into his contrite expression, which held not a hint of sarcasm or mirth to betray his intent.
    Egads! It was an apology.
    She took another look at him. No, it couldn’t be. She must have tied her bonnet on a little too tight, that or Rusty and Sammy had already knocked him over the head and she’d missed the event entirely.
    “My brother tells me I’ve been a bit high-handed—” he continued.
    “A bit?” she sputtered, then realized she’d said that aloud.
    Again he smiled at her as if he hadn’t heard her rude little outburst. The blinding glare of his straight white teeth and the sincere light of his eyes were capable of leaving a lady a bit off kilter.
    Even a lady as unflappable as Lucy. At least she’d always thought of herself as immune to such charms.
    “I mean to say, I don’t think—” she stammered, trying to recover some sense of control. It was hard to think when he looked at her so … so … oh, bother, as if he found her quite delightful.
    Which he doesn’t , she told herself.
    Yet, here he was, pompous Lord Clifton, apologizing.
    “Yes, yes, I’ve been most high-handed. So Miss Lucy, as a gentleman, I extend my sincere apologies to you if I’ve offended you in any manner.”
    There it was again, that brilliant, boyish smile. The kind that beamed only for her. And demmit if Lucy’s heart didn’t beat just a little bit faster.
    Oh, heavens. He would have to apologize right now. Just before she led him into her father’s trap.
    A niggle of guilt ran down her spine. And at first, she barely knew what it was, for she rarely felt guilty over anything. Not even cheating at cards.
    But her guilt, as it turned out, had a short-lived existence, for the earl continued on with his apology.
    “I would be most remiss if I offended a lady such as yourself, and a pretty one at that.”
    Lucy slowly tipped her bonnet and looked at him. Really looked. From that winsome, handsome smile meant to dazzle, up to the bright, concerned light in his eyes.
    The man was devilishly attractive, much to her chagrin.
    Sharp, dark eyes, the Roman nose of a gentleman, a smooth, solid jaw with a deep cleft beneath his sculpted lips.
    Lucy fixed her gaze to the road beneath her feet as her heart once again danced with a haphazard tremble.
    Oh, Lucy, don’t be such a nit.
    For despite all his sweet words and smiling glances, Lucy Ellyson knew without a doubt that whatever he was up to, he was flirting with her for a reason.
    The Earl of Clifton was piling Spanish coins at her feet, false flattery enough to fill a pirate’s hold, and if he thought his fine words could turn her head … nay, distract her …
    Distract her?
    Lucy’s boots scudded to a halt, and the man mistook her momentary falter for something else.
    “Am I going too fast for you, Miss Lucy? Do you need to rest?”
    “No, no, I am most sound,” she shot back, dispensing any further worries of guilt. The demmed scurvy bast— Why, he’d nearly convinced her he was