Like No Other Lover by Julie Anne Long Read Free Book Online Page B

hope you are enjoying your visit so far. What makes you think I was missed?” He matched her tone so flawlessly it was very nearly mockery.
    If she’d noticed, she did an admirable job of disguising it.
    “I am enjoying my visit, thank you.” Her face glowed up at him. “Your home is beautiful. And a number of inquiries were made after you at the meal, which is how I drew my conclusions about your presence being missed. Suggestions were made that you had tired of South Sea island debauchery and embarked upon a life of wholesome abstinence.”
    It was so very alive , her face. Delicious, playful wickedness flickered through her innocence like those sparks caught in the net of her dress.
    And granted, hearing a word like “debauchery” emerge from lips like hers generally held a good deal of appeal. If another appealing woman had uttered it—perhaps Lady Middlebough—he might have attempted to steer the conversation down promising byways of innuendo.
    Instead he said: “This room must feel rather like Tattersall’s to you, Miss Brightly. What an interesting variety of eligible men are represented. However will you pick one out?”
    Miss Brightly went rigid.
    A tick of fraught quiet went by between them.
    And then she tipped her head slowly up to him, as though balancing a scalding cup of tea atop it. Aware of a grave, grave danger.
    And she looked— really looked, for probably the first time—into his face.
    What she saw there caused wary reassessment and comprehension to cut across the blue field of her eyes as swiftly as a pair of hunting falcons. They were there and gone as though they had never been, leaving her eyes once again blue fields of innocence.
    So she was not entirely a fool. This was a bit vexing, as he would have preferred her to become less interesting, rather than more.
    “I hope you’ll forgive me, Mr. Redmond, but I’m not certain I take your meaning.”
    “Oh, come, Miss Brightly,” he jollied on a murmur. “I am one of your hosts, after all. I must insist you share with me. You’re here for the eligible men, are you not? Why else would you be here in Sussex? Perhaps you even have your eye on one in particular?”
    Her features were entirely still. Her eyes, however, seemed even more vivid, as though she’d focused her thoughts entirely on him, and it was a potent look, indeed. He thought he detected a rustle of nervousness. Ah, yes: a glance told him that one of her hands had burrowed surreptitiously into one of the folds of her gown.
    “If you’d care to share the name of the fortunate gentleman, perhaps I can provide some insight into his pedigree?” He was as solicitous as a shopkeeper. “As host, I feel it’s my responsi—”
    “Mister Redmond.” It sounded like a warning. Rather as though she wished to protect him from himself. “I would very much like to participate in a conversation with you, but I must confess to feeling excluded by my own confusion. Your conversation has taken a turn I do not understand.”
    Her face was innocent. But her eyes burned. She understood very well.
    He sighed heavily. “Very well, Miss Brightly. Forgive me, but I’m about to bore both of us by telling you things you already know, but do keep in mind that you have forced me to do it. Things such as: you are not without charm, but you are at present attending a country house party without a husband or even a fiancé. While you were in one possession of a rather grand fiancé last I heard—the heir to an earl? Courtland? This leads me to believe something rather unfortunate happened in London to end the engagement…” He cast his eyes toward the ceiling rosette. “A duel, perhaps?”
    He returned his eyes to her.
    Before his eyes, her jaw slowly set; storm clouds gathered across her gaze, and the blue went very, very dark.
    Cynthia Brightly was officially angry. Unsurprisingly, anger suited her. Perversely, her anger suited him .
    “I see I’ve assessed the situation correctly,” he