The Courtship by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page A

hand or her fingers or her wrist. He just smiled at her and stepped away to shake hands with Lord Prith.
    â€œI had the great pleasure to see you once, sir, in White’s. May I inquire the height of your wife?”
    â€œAh, my sweet Mathilda, named after the conqueror’s wife, you know. She was just a slip of a girl when I met her. No taller than my elbow when I married her. I swear, though, that she grew through the years just to keep up with her daughter. Helen, how tall was your mother?”
    â€œMy mother, Lord Beecham, was perhaps an inch taller than I. She swept through East Anglia, gentlemen in her wake, begging for her attention, but then she saw my father, and she stopped sweeping.”
    â€œIt is just the same with you, Nell,” Lord Prith said. He added to Lord Beecham, “So many fellows wanting to marry my little Nell. Sad thing is, though, most of ’em are short, more’s the pity. Short men take one look at Helen and swoon. Of course, neither Helen nor I see them when they collapse.”
    â€œBecause they’re so short.”
    â€œExactly,” said Lord Prith. “Flock, bring on the champagne.”
    Now, Helen thought, with a smile toward her father, they would soon see what Lord Beecham was made of. She didn’t know what Flock used to measure a man’s wit, but to her father, it was, and always had been, champagne.
    Lord Beecham eyed the beautiful goblet filled to its very brim with perfectly chilled champagne. He smiled at Flock as he shook his head. “Forgive me, but I would very much prefer a brandy.”
    Lord Prith choked and spewed champagne bubbles.
    Helen shook her head sadly. “Are you certain, Lord Beecham? You don’t care for champagne?”
    â€œIt isn’t that I don’t appreciate it, it’s that champagne, particularly very fine champagne like this obviously is, makes me very ill. When I first drank it at Oxford, I believed I would die, I became so very ill. I tried one other time since then. It was not a pretty sight. It is an even worse memory, still.”
    â€œHere is brandy, my lord,” said Flock. “It is the finest French brandy, smuggled in to a very private cove on his lordship’s estate.”
    â€œLord Beecham may decide to inform on us, Flock,” Helen said as she sipped her champagne.
    â€œNo, he won’t,” said Lord Prith slowly. “He may be dangerous, but he’s tall and he’s straight. A pity about the champagne, though. There is nothing more splendid than a half dozen glasses—that quite sees you through the darkest times.”
    â€œSo I have heard, sir. However, I have found brandy an excellent substitute. I may have dark times, but I am not dangerous, sir—at least not in the normal course of events.”
    â€œIt is better for your reputation if you don’t disagree with that,” Helen said, and poked him lightly in the arm. She looked glorious tonight, her gown a soft ivory, the lovely pearls around her neck luminescent. Her hair was piled high atop her head, making her taller than he, which amused him.
    â€œVery well,” he said, “I am so dangerous that highwaymen see my carriage and ride directly to the magistrate.” He wondered what she would taste like. Her gown wasn’t cut particularly low, just low enough so he could see the lovely roundness of her breasts.
    â€œStop that,” she said under her breath.
    â€œIf a woman did not want a man to admire her attributes, why then would she wear a gown that was halfway to her knees?”
    â€œI selected that gown, sir.” Lord Prith paused then and looked at his only offspring. “I say, it is somewhat revealing, Nell. Perhaps I could give you one of my scarves to tie around your shoulders. Flock! Fetch one of my wool scarves to cover Miss Helen.”
    â€œHoisted on my own petard,” Lord Beecham said and drank down the rest of his brandy.
    â€œPapa has