Miss Lindel's Love by Cynthia Bailey Pratt Read Free Book Online
Authors: Cynthia Bailey Pratt
Tags: Regency Romance
foremost in her mind. Her husband’s fascination with huntin’, shootin’, and fishin’ left her ample time to pursue her own interests. Kenton knew he was only the most favored of her swains and his absence had not made her heart any fonder.
He wished now that they’d not agreed to meet in the cathedral. But it was a well-known site for assignations. Glancing around, Kenton saw several persons he knew well, mostly with the object of their own more or less illicit affections. He frowned, realizing that he’d been maneuvering into silently declaring that his relationship with Flora would continue this year as well.
“Shall we go?” he asked, breaking in upon her prattling about some evening party to come.
Flora blinked, taken aback by this evidence of impatience. Then her smile grew a trifle wicked while her eyes became languid. “Certainly, my lord,” she purred. “At your pleasure.”
Leaving the cathedral. Kenton took a look back. Yes, she’d miscalculated by asking to meet here. Though their liaison was no secret, he did not like the brazenness of her move in claiming him so publicly. He resented being manipulated. If that made him a hypocrite, so be it.
She was no longer quite so pleased with herself when Kenton escorted her only as far as her door. “What, you’ll not come in?”
“Not now, I think.”
She laid her hand on his arm. “Why so unwilling, Ken? You know Sir Willard is from home.”
“I must refuse your pressing invitation, Flora. Having but newly come to town, I have many calls on my time.”
Those brilliant eyes narrowed. “That sounds ...we can’t discuss it on the stoop. Come in, Ken, and we’ll talk.”
He bowed and conveyed her gloved hand to his lips. “Another time, perhaps.”
“Ken ... ?” Perhaps she heard the ghost of a plea in her tone, for she threw her shoulders back. He admired her for her pride as well as recalling that she never looked more magnificent than when in a rage, but neither fact enticed him over her threshold. “As you will,” she said coldly.
Her butler opened the door then and she swept in, not deigning to throw Kenton another word. He bowed his head to her as she went, then met the butler’s singularly blank gaze. The servant stood aside to permit Kenton to enter.
“Good afternoon, Atkins,” he said, fishing a guinea from his pocket.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” he replied, taking the coin as quickly and discreetly as a market fair conjuror.
“And good-bye,” Kenton added, a bit giddily.
As he turned to go down the steps, he felt so light that he wouldn’t have been surprised to find himself floating above the pavement like one of those big silken balloons. He had not realized until now just how wearying this intrigue had grown. He heard the door close softly behind him and was hard put not to break into a skip. But his reputation for correct behavior came to his aid, though he could not restrain a wider smile than was his wont.
Kenton found a cab at the corner and directed the driver to take him to Number 32, Ludgate Hill, home of the finest jewelers in London. Rundell and Bridge were delighted to accede to his wishes and brought out their best merchandise for one who had shown both good taste and deep pockets. He bought Flora a necklace designed in two shades of sapphire, the deepest twilight blue and the pale gleam of Ceylon. A woman of Flora’s rich experience and sophistication would immediately recognize such an extravagant adornment as the farewell present that it was. He ordered it sent at once, before he could second-guess himself.
Returning to his rooms in Pendleton Street, he found half a dozen invitations scattered over a table very near the large booted feet of his best friend in all the world, Dominic Swift. He had his aristocratic nose buried in a book, a pot of ale on a table dragged from its proper place to rest handy by his side.
“Comfortable?” Kenton asked, when his friend neither looked up nor stirred at
He wished now that they’d not agreed to meet in the cathedral. But it was a well-known site for assignations. Glancing around, Kenton saw several persons he knew well, mostly with the object of their own more or less illicit affections. He frowned, realizing that he’d been maneuvering into silently declaring that his relationship with Flora would continue this year as well.
“Shall we go?” he asked, breaking in upon her prattling about some evening party to come.
Flora blinked, taken aback by this evidence of impatience. Then her smile grew a trifle wicked while her eyes became languid. “Certainly, my lord,” she purred. “At your pleasure.”
Leaving the cathedral. Kenton took a look back. Yes, she’d miscalculated by asking to meet here. Though their liaison was no secret, he did not like the brazenness of her move in claiming him so publicly. He resented being manipulated. If that made him a hypocrite, so be it.
She was no longer quite so pleased with herself when Kenton escorted her only as far as her door. “What, you’ll not come in?”
“Not now, I think.”
She laid her hand on his arm. “Why so unwilling, Ken? You know Sir Willard is from home.”
“I must refuse your pressing invitation, Flora. Having but newly come to town, I have many calls on my time.”
Those brilliant eyes narrowed. “That sounds ...we can’t discuss it on the stoop. Come in, Ken, and we’ll talk.”
He bowed and conveyed her gloved hand to his lips. “Another time, perhaps.”
“Ken ... ?” Perhaps she heard the ghost of a plea in her tone, for she threw her shoulders back. He admired her for her pride as well as recalling that she never looked more magnificent than when in a rage, but neither fact enticed him over her threshold. “As you will,” she said coldly.
Her butler opened the door then and she swept in, not deigning to throw Kenton another word. He bowed his head to her as she went, then met the butler’s singularly blank gaze. The servant stood aside to permit Kenton to enter.
“Good afternoon, Atkins,” he said, fishing a guinea from his pocket.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” he replied, taking the coin as quickly and discreetly as a market fair conjuror.
“And good-bye,” Kenton added, a bit giddily.
As he turned to go down the steps, he felt so light that he wouldn’t have been surprised to find himself floating above the pavement like one of those big silken balloons. He had not realized until now just how wearying this intrigue had grown. He heard the door close softly behind him and was hard put not to break into a skip. But his reputation for correct behavior came to his aid, though he could not restrain a wider smile than was his wont.
Kenton found a cab at the corner and directed the driver to take him to Number 32, Ludgate Hill, home of the finest jewelers in London. Rundell and Bridge were delighted to accede to his wishes and brought out their best merchandise for one who had shown both good taste and deep pockets. He bought Flora a necklace designed in two shades of sapphire, the deepest twilight blue and the pale gleam of Ceylon. A woman of Flora’s rich experience and sophistication would immediately recognize such an extravagant adornment as the farewell present that it was. He ordered it sent at once, before he could second-guess himself.
Returning to his rooms in Pendleton Street, he found half a dozen invitations scattered over a table very near the large booted feet of his best friend in all the world, Dominic Swift. He had his aristocratic nose buried in a book, a pot of ale on a table dragged from its proper place to rest handy by his side.
“Comfortable?” Kenton asked, when his friend neither looked up nor stirred at