The Perfect Bride by Brenda Joyce Read Free Book Online Page A

predicament, he thought. She would never see him as a gentleman, not after this day. He could spend years atoning to her, years trying to reprise his character, but nothing he could say or do, now or in the future, would erase what he had just done.
    Anne returned, carrying a beautiful lawn shirt with a ruffled collar and a severe, but elegant, navy-blue jacket. “Will these do?” she asked somberly.
    â€œYes, thank you. Help me, please.” Although he could dress himself, as he could balance perfectly on the crutch without holding it, her help would speed him on his way. As she helped him with the shirt, she whispered, “Is she a great lady, Sir Rex?”
    â€œYes, a very great lady. Why do you ask?”
    â€œYou are so concerned.”
    He shrugged on the jacket. “I have known Lady Harrington in passing for years. There are ladies in society who would hardly care to witness such an event. Unfortunately, Lady Harrington’s character is stellar and she is not of that ilk.”
    His time had run out. Rex hurried from the study and across the hall, feeling very much as if he were on his way to doom. The front door was open and his heart began to race erratically. The heat in his cheeks intensified and by the time he was crossing the single step outside to the shell drive, he knew he was crimson.
    Her back was to the house again—she faced her carriage.
    He inhaled, rapidly approaching. “Lady Harrington,” he said tersely.
    Tension rippled through her and she turned. She was smiling, but her cheeks were as pink as the ribbon in Anne’s hair. “Sir Rex! How pleasant to see you again,” she breathed. “Good day, sir. It has been some time!”
    He halted before her. Did she really think to pretend she had not witnessed him making love to his housemaid? He stared, and for one moment, before she ducked her head, their gazes locked.
    A fist seemed to land in his chest, hard. It winded him. She had always had the most beautiful blue-green eyes, tipped up wildly at the outer corners, and he had forgotten how petite and lovely she was. But he had never seen her like this—trembling and flushed with distress and dismay. It took him a moment to speak. “This is an unexpected surprise,” he said harshly.
    â€œI am on my way to Penthwaithe,” she said, her strain evident in her tone and the fact that she now refused to look at him. “But knowing your home was so close by, I thought to call here, first.”
    Penthwaithe? He was confused. He had never been to the manor, but his understanding was that the owner resided in London and had left the estate in near ruins. Why would she be on her way to Penthwaithe?
    She slowly looked up at him, her smile fading.
    He became still, looking into huge eyes that were wide and mirroring so many turbulent emotions, he could not decipher any of them. Blanche Harrington always had the appearance of an angel—her smile genuine, kind and terribly serene, her grace unshakable. Suddenly he was looking at someone he did not quite recognize. She was an elegant woman of outstanding character, and he had to have distressed her greatly with his display of depraved lust. Other women might have enjoyed such a show, but she was not one of them.
    â€œI must apologize for offending you,” he said thickly. He truly hated himself.
    â€œYou have not offended me!” She was firm, but he caught a slight tremor in her tone. “It is a lovely afternoon and I should have gone directly to Penthwaithe and sent you my card, giving you some notice of my intentions. I must apologize for inconveniencing you, Sir Rex. But we were chilled through and through and when no one answered the door, we hoped to warm ourselves in your hall.” She breathed. “Your home is lovely, sir. Just lovely.”
    He could not stand seeing her in such a state of discomfiture. And worse, she was now apologizing to him. “You could never