Tender Rebel by Johanna Lindsey Read Free Book Online Page A

she did now.
    It was amusing, the emotions that flitted over her flawless features. Shock, curiosity, then pink-tinged embarrassment, but no fear. With intense, gold-flecked eyes, she started on his leg and worked her way up. He wondered how much of him she could actually see. Not much probably, standing in the light as she was, but he had no inclination to reveal himself just yet.
    On one level he was amazed that she hadn’t run off immediately, or fainted, or done some other silly thing that a previously sheltered young debutante was likely to do when presented with a strange man lurking in the shadows. Unconsciously, he sought a reason that she should react differently from all the other innocents he staunchly avoided. When it came to him, it was another shock. She wasn’t that young, not too young for him anyway. She wasn’t off limits, then.
    That knowledge worked on Anthony’s system immediately. Where before he had simply appreciated her beauty like a connoisseur, now he registered that he needn’t be damned to only look, he could also touch. And then the light came on upstairs, and she was staring at him with a new look, obvious fascination, and he was never so glad in his life that women found him appealing to the senses.
    It was suddenly imperative for him to ask, “Who guards you?”

    Roslynn was startled to hear his voice again after the long silence; she knew very well she should have walked away after their first brief words had brought no more. Only she had stood fast, unable to take her eyes off him, not caring that she was staring, that he was too.
    “Guards me?”
    “Yes. Who do you belong to?”
    “Oh. No one.”
    Anthony smiled, amused. “Perhaps I should rephrase my question?”
    “No, I understood. So did you. My grandfather recently died, you see. I lived with him. Now I have no one.”
    “Then have me.”
    The soft words tripped her heart. Oh, what she wouldn’t do to have him. But she was almost certain he didn’t mean what she wanted him to mean, but what she should be embarrassed over hearing instead. But she wasn’t embarrassed. It was something she would expect a man like him to say. They were never sincere, Frances had told her. And they loved to say shocking things to enhance their image of being dissipated and unprincipled.
    Still, she had to ask. She couldn’t help herself. “Would you marry me, then?”
    “Marry?”
    She had managed to discompose him. She almost laughed at his look of horror.
    “I don’t mince words, sir, though I’m not usually that forward. But considering what you said to me, my question was perfectly in order. So I may assume you are not husband material?”
    “Good God, no!”
    “You needn’t be that emphatic,” she said, disappointment just barely discernible in her tone. “I didn’t think you were.”
    He wasn’t so pleased himself now, drawing his own conclusions. “You’re not going to dash my hopes this soon, are you, sweetheart? Tell me you’re not seeking matrimony along with the masses.”
    “Oh, but I am, most definitely. It’s why I’ve come to London.”
    “Don’t they all.”
    “I beg your pardon.”
    He smiled at her again, and it had the strangest effect on her, sort of like melting into honey. “You’re not married yet, are you.” He wasn’t asking, but clarifying it in her mind as well as his. He leaned forward and caught at her hand, gently tugging her closer. “What name goes with such loveliness?”
    What name? What name? Her mind was filled with gloveless fingers lightly gripping her own. Warm, strong. Gooseflesh rushed up her bare arm. Her shins bumped the edge of the bench next to his foot, but she didn’t feel it. He had brought her into the shadows.
    “You do have one, don’t you?” he persisted.
    A clean, masculine scent assailed Roslynn’s nostrils. “What?”
    He chuckled, delighted with her confusion. “My dear girl, a name. We all of us must bear one, good or bad. Mine is Anthony Malory, Tony