Not Quite a Lady by Loretta Chase Read Free Book Online

more important things to do than puzzle over a woman he couldn’t bed. The trouble was, she was a puzzle, and whatever else Darius Carsington was capable of, he was no more capable of leaving alone an unanswered question than he was of resisting a challenge to his abilities. Which, after all, amounted to much the same thing.
    “In short,” he said with a trace of irritation, “the lady is a saint.”
    The men looked at one another. “Well, I dunno,” said one meditatively, “as I’d say that. ”
    Drawing room of Lithby Hall, that evening
    Mr. Carsington had caught Charlotte unprepared the first time.
    This time she was fully prepared. Her head was clear, her demeanor all it should be. She had her company smile in place and all eighty-three thousand six hundred fifty-seven rules of proper behavior in the front of her mind.
    Nonetheless, when Mr. Carsington appeared, standing in the doorway for one perfectly timed dramatic moment, she felt a jolt, as though she’d touched one of those magnetic devices her boy cousins found so fascinating.
    She was distantly aware that others were not unaffected. Every head turned his way, and many faces—especially the female ones—expressed more than simple curiosity about the newcomer.
    The candlelight caught the gold in his hair and burnished his tanned countenance. Once again he seemed a golden god come among mortals.
    Apollo, that was the one, beyond question. The sun god, all glimmering gold. His hair. His eyes.
    And like a god, he seemed larger than life, his powerful frame filling the doorway.
    But he wasn’t a god, she reminded herself. Merely a man and, if she was not much mistaken, an all-too-common variety.
    A rake.
    The man who had destroyed her future was a rake. Among the many lessons she learned from that experience was the importance of learning to recognize the breed.
    She could spot one at fifty paces.
    Had she not taken leave of her wits during their first encounter, she would have immediately filed Mr. Carsington under the category “Rakes” in her private Encyclopedia of Men.
    Still, better late than never, she told herself while she adjusted her expression to one of polite welcome.
    Her poise faltered when he left the doorway and made straight for her.
    Heart racing, she almost took a step backward. Then she became aware of her father at her shoulder.
    “Mr. Carsington, welcome,” Papa said. He introduced the man to Lizzie, and Mr. Carsington made her a graceful bow. Lizzie spoke to him, and he answered. Charlotte wasn’t sure what they said. Her head was buzzing as though filled with bees.
    “Charlotte, my dear.” Papa’s voice broke through the buzzing. “Here is our new neighbor Mr. Carsington.” She heard the pride in her father’s voice as he continued, “Sir, my daughter, Charlotte.”
    Inside her was a frantic flurry. She had all she could do to keep from trembling. She kept her muscles rigid while her heart beat so furiously that she couldn’t swallow or catch her breath.
    Yet she was aware, too, of Papa beaming at her.
    He loved her so much. She wanted so much to be everything he wanted her to be.
    She made her muscles relax.
    Mr. Carsington bowed. “Lady Charlotte.”
    “Mr. Carsington.”
    A pause ensued. It was not a quiet pause. The air seemed to hum, as though the bees had left her skull and now hovered between them.
    Mr. Carsington’s amber eyes slanted toward her father, who had turned away to say something to Lizzie.
    The gaze shifted back to her. This time she saw in his unusual eyes the same teasing expression he’d worn when he quizzed her about her hat.
    “But I believe we’ve met before,” he said in a rumbling undertone. Though he stood a proper distance away, the words felt like a secret breathed in her ear. Her skin prickled.
    “I think not,” she said, flashing him a warning look.
    He lifted his eyebrows.
    She lifted hers.
    She thought, Utter one word of what happened, and I’ll wrap my hands around your throat