The Angel in My Arms: A Regency Rogues Novel by Stefanie Sloane Read Free Book Online Page A

coldness melted instantly by the earl’s charm. She hesitated, then offered him a small smile.
    For her part, Sarah could not help but glare at Priscilla. How the earl had managed to keep from throttling the girl for such boorish behavior was beyond her.
    The music began and Sarah looked worriedly from the musicians to Lord Weston. “La Boulangere?” she whispered to the earl.
    “Yes,” he answered, offering her a reassuring look. “Only a simple country dance.”
    Sarah rolled her eyes and swallowed a whimper of protest.
    “I am the one with an injured leg,” he said in response to her silent objection. “If either of us had cause for trepidation at such a task, I would think it was me.”
    Of course Sarah had taken note of the earl’s slightlimp almost immediately, but she had possessed the sense to hold her tongue.
    “I’m sorry, but why, exactly, would you put us through such torture, especially in light of your infirmity?”
    Lord Weston looked somewhat shocked at Sarah’s indelicate question, and then he let out a shout of laughter, the sound drowned out by the two violins beginning a lively air.
    Unable to avoid it, they moved with the dance, the circle traveling right with a simple enough step, then left. “Do you always say exactly what is on your mind, Miss Tisdale?”
    Sarah was concentrating on her feet so closely that she very nearly missed the earl’s question. “Well, yes,” she answered matter-of-factly. “Don’t you?”
    “Good God, no,” he answered emphatically before he joined the men in a separate circle while the women twirled.
    Sarah counted time to the music, her gaze fixed on the polished oaken floor and the graceful movements of the other women. She looked up just in time to rejoin Lord Weston. “So, you make a habit of concealing your true thoughts, then?”
    Weston was amazingly graceful for a man with a limp. He clapped in time and completed a full turn with impeccable precision. “I suppose it depends on the situation,” he answered, arching an eyebrow.
    He was making it difficult for Sarah to concentrate. And the seductive curve of his mouth as he smiled at her did little to help. “Lord Weston, why did you ask me to dance?”
    He looked at her incredulously, as if for the first time in a long while he wasn’t sure what to say. “Why does any man ask a woman to dance?”
    “Come now, Lord Weston,” Sarah said. “There’s noneed to be mysterious. I assure you, no matter the truth, I’m hearty and hale enough to hear it.”
    It used to be that men would ask Sarah to dance in order to inquire after Claire. But that was obviously not the case now.
    The circle broke and couples joined hands together, the step bringing Lord Weston face-to-face with Sarah. “Miss Tisdale, have I done something to offend you … or perhaps your mother?”
    Sarah gripped the earl’s hands reflexively, his bluntness most unexpected. “Where would you have heard …? I’m sorry, but who …?” she asked, struggling to complete the sentence. “Bennington,” she hissed, searching the dancers for the traitor’s face.
    “Miss Tisdale,” Lord Weston pressed, squeezing her clenched hands in his. “Bennington did not intend to betray your confidence, I assure you. He was caught off guard—”
    “You queried while he was pining after Claire, didn’t you?”
    Marcus nodded, a mixture of guilt and resignation on his face.
    She could hardly lie now. He knew the truth of it and she wasn’t about to be caught in a falsehood. “He talks too much,” she said lightly, hoping that he would simply laugh and let it go.
    “Miss Tisdale, please,” he replied, his face taking on a determined set.
    Really, she thought, as if being made to dance was not enough. “You’ll not drop it, then?” Sarah asked hopefully.
    “Not a chance.”
    The dance was winding down and Sarah desperately needed to be free of the earl. Especially his hands, which held hers in a most distracting way—too large,