Marjorie Farrell by Lady Arden's Redemption Read Free Book Online

not in the common way. But then I am used to Spanish beauties myself,” he mused.
    “Well, if you are not utterly put off by her, perhaps your commitment will not prove burdensome.”
    “It may not, Aunt, but don’t get any matchmaking gleams in your eye. I will escort her to suppers and dance with her, but I do not think that you will see me betrothed.”
    “I wish I could meet this young woman, but there is no way I can leave your uncle.”
    “No need to meet her, Aunt Kate,” said Gareth, putting down his glass and reaching over to give his aunt an encouraging hug. “Nothing will come of this, I assure you.”
    * * * *
    From Arden’s reaction to him at the Ross’s ball, an objective bystander would have guessed Gareth to be right. When her father introduced them early in the evening, she lifted her eyebrows slightly, wrinkled her nose and gave him only the tips of her fingers, as though he smelled of something slightly off. He knew that this was to remind him of his unkempt appearance in the hallway. He marveled at the illusion she was able to create of looking down on him. Now that she was not standing on a staircase, he could see that while they were almost of a height, he was still a bit taller. By a good inch or two, he reassured himself. He was amused that it bothered him that he could not look down either protectively or condescendingly on her, and he grinned at his own vanity.
    Arden was strangely disturbed by him. He had a presence, she decided, as she tried to analyze her response to him. In fact, that undefinable response was what had caused her to exaggerate her reaction, in order to remind him of their first meeting. Who was he, after all, but one of her father’s officers? He and her father would probably leave for the campaign together, and she wouldn't see that tanned face and quick grin again.
    She was claimed for a dance by one of the young lieutenants. Gareth watched them and had to admit that despite her height she was a graceful dancer. She did not return to their small group, but joined her usual cronies, the lieutenants and the few young ladies who were always hanging on their sleeves. They were all obviously listening to Arden and glancing over at him, and he realized that she was probably entertaining them with the story of their first meeting. As the whole group laughed, he decided he was the latest victim of her wit, and wondered what sobriquet he had earned. Well, no doubt he would hear it by the end of the evening. He found himself beginning to get angry with this young woman who saw everyone as fair game, and decided it was time someone called her to account for her behavior.
    As a matter-of-fact, Gareth was only partly right. Arden was amusing her friends with the tale of an unkempt ruffian fighting to get in to see her father, but each time she reached for the perfect phrase, which usually came so easily to her, she couldn't find one. The group was waiting for the bon mot, the word or two that would pin Gareth to the wall like an insect, but the best Arden could do was compare him to his namesake in the tales of King Arthur, who had been relegated to kitchen boy. It was weak, but it got them laughing and that made the disturbing feeling go away. She saw him looking across the room, and ignored him, turning to one of her companions and reminding him that the next dance was his.
    Gareth waited for a waltz before he approached her, and she had almost succeeded in forgetting his presence. Suddenly he was beside her, asking for the dance. She was about to refuse, when she realized that her card, as usual, was not full. It would be better to dance than to hold up the wall, she decided, and he could hardly know she had been mocking him.
    They said nothing for the first few measures, and Arden concentrated on not letting the disturbance in her stomach overwhelm her. Was this what people described as butterflies? she wondered, and why would this…this person cause her to feel them? Gareth,