The Earl's Wager by Rebecca Thomas Read Free Book Online Page B

think it would work. “Oh, my lord, you really think I need eating lessons, as well as dining-room etiquette?”
    “I’m not entirely sure. I don’t know your schooling history. America doesn’t have the kinds of rules we do. I assume you’ve not been to a boarding school?”
    She placed her elbows on the table, intertwined her fingers, and positioned them under her chin. “And why would you assume that?”
    “One, because you’re putting your elbows on the table; two, you licked food off your mouth with your tongue; and three, both actions are entirely unacceptable.”
    “Oh, please.” Trying to gain some sense of composure, she gazed upward. No matter what she did, she doubted he’d retire from his tutoring obligation. She didn’t know why she’d even crafted such a plan—Englishmen were all about duty and responsibility. And although she’d be loath to admit it to this man, she did appreciate someone who made a commitment to something and stuck with it.
    “Do you want to embarrass Marsdale? Is that your intent?”
    “How would I embarrass him?” She clutched her hands tighter and set them in her lap.
    “By acting unseemly at Lady Laurel’s dinner party, that’s how. You are a reflection of him and his family. And, therefore, my sister and me as well.”
    “Give me some credit, my lord. I’m four and twenty. Even though my mother died twelve years ago, do you think my father would let me run wild?”
    He shook his head and arched a sardonic brow. “I’m not at all certain.”
    “Trust me, he didn’t.” She scooped soup into her spoon, moved it to her lips, and swallowed. “I was given many freedoms, I’ll grant you that. I didn’t have a chaperone with me every second, but luckily, Oliver has come to some sense of reason, so I don’t have to have Eloise glued to my side. He’d given me some space, until you came into the scene.” She bit into a biscuit and stared at him. “In fact, I have to ask why, all of a sudden, he’s so determined to marry me off? This has come about since you arrived.”
    “I’m sure I don’t know. Doesn’t every woman of your age and rank wish to make a good match?” He lifted an inquiring brow.
    She gave him a blank stare but was compelled to study his eyebrows. They were so expressive and revealed his annoyance with her. Chewing two more times, she swallowed and thought better of leaving crumbs on her lips. “No.”
    “Perhaps he was giving you time to acclimate to your new surroundings?”
    The earl drank water from his glass, and she watched the muscles of his throat flex with each swallow. Strange how she’d never made note of such a benign movement before. Maybe she noticed because his cravat was tied so perfectly straight, and the linen of his shirt was starched to near perfection. She had the intense urge to pull the confined fabric free.
    “Miss Duvall?” He raised both brows. “You’re staring.”
    “Am I?” She dipped her spoon back into her soup.
    “Since I am trying to help you, truly I am, one piece of advice would be not to stare. Unless there is something wrong? Did I manage to spill soup on myself?”
    “Of course not,” Georgia muttered. “You’re perfectly put together, just as I would expect. Not a speck of soup on you anywhere.”
    “Good. It’s not appropriate to glare either, you know.”
    “I wasn’t glaring.” She looked at him in disbelief. “I was simply making an assessment of your cravat.”
    “And do you find my cravat agreeable?” He spoke in such a calm, sedate manner, Georgia wondered what it would take to make him less agreeable.
    “Oh, yes.” She took her glass in hand. “Everything about your attire is impeccable. From your pressed shirt to your polished boots, you are a proper English gentleman through and through.”
    A fluttering, tingling sensation rooted itself in her chest, and she couldn’t understand why the feeling kept taking hold of her. She was not interested in his ever-so-proper