The Perfect Lover by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online Page A

was setting aside her empty cup when Kitty once again claimed center stage. She rose, her skirts shushing; placing herself at the focal point of the gathering, she smiled charmingly, hands wide. “We should walk in the gardens before retiring. It’s positively balmy outside, and so many of the scented plants are flowering. After all that dancing, we need a moment’s reflection in peaceful surrounds before repairing to our rooms.”
    Once again, she was right. The older members of the company who hadn’t danced did not feel so inclined, but all those who’d whirled about the room definitely did. They followed Kitty out of the French doors and onto the terrace; from there, they ventured down onto the lawns in twos and threes.
    She wasn’t surprised when Simon materialized beside her on the terrace; whenever they were in the same party, in situations like this, he’d be somewhere close—on that she could happily wager. Taking the role of reluctant protector had been his habit for years.
    But then he broke with custom and offered her his arm.
    She hesitated.
    Simon watched her blink at his sleeve as if she wasn’t quite sure what it was. He was waiting when she glanced up; he caught her eye, raised one brow in a wordless, deliberately arrogant challenge.
    Up went her chin; with haughty calm she placed her fingers on his sleeve. Hiding his smile, small victory though it was, he led her down the shallow steps onto the lawn.
    Kitty had gone ahead with Ambrose and Desmond, conversing animatedly with Lucy Buckstead so that the damsel was forced to accompany the trio rather than hang back and walk with James as had most likely been her aim. Charlie and James escorted the Hammond girls and Winifred; Drusilla had declined to join them, citing an aversion to the evening air, and Henry had been engrossed in a conversation with Mr. Buckstead.
    Reaching the lawns, they stepped out. “Do you have any preference—any sight you wish to see?” He gestured about them.
    “By the fitful moonlight?” Portia tracked Kitty’s small band as they headed away from the house, toward the dark band of huge rhododenrons that bordered the lawn. “What’s that way?”
    He’d been watching her face. “The temple.”
    Her brows rose, faintly supercilious. “Which way is the lake?”
    He waved to where the lawn sloped down and away, forming a broad green path wending through the garden beds. “It’s not close, but not too far for a stroll.”
    They strolled that way. The others ambled after them; the Hammond sisters’ exclamations over the extensive gardens, the huge shrubs and trees, the numerous walks, borders, and well-stocked beds, rippled an appreciative chorus in the soft evening air. The gardens were indeed lush and dense; the combined scents of untold flowers wreathed through the warm dark.
    They walked on, neither fast nor slow, with no vital aim; the moment was goal enough, peaceful, quiet—unexpectedly companionable.
    Behind them, the others dawdled, their voices falling to a murmur. He glanced at Portia. “What are you about?”
    She tensed fractionally. “About?”
    “I heard you in the lookout, remember? Something about learning more, making a decision, and considering all those eligible.”
    She glanced at him, her face shadowed by the trees beneath which they were passing.
    He prompted, “Eligible for what?”
    She blinked, her gaze on his face, then she looked forward. “It’s . . . just a point of interest. Something I’ve been wondering about.”
    “What is ‘it’?”
    After a moment, she replied, “You don’t need to know.”
    “Meaning you don’t wish to tell me.”
    She inclined her head.
    He was tempted to press, but she’d be here, under his eye, for the next several days; he’d have time and more to figure out her latest start simply by watching all she did. He’d seen her taking note of the gentlemen over the dinner table, and when she’d danced with James and Charlie, and Winfield, too, she’d