The Perfect Waltz by Anne Gracíe Read Free Book Online Page B

sounded special.
    His accent was unself-conscious: cultured but with a faint, abrasive undertone of the north. It was different. She liked it. In her limited experience, people not born to the ton either were almost belligerently regional in accent or adopted painfully refined speech.
    He was turning out to be altogether different from her initial imaginings. She was no longer so daunted by his tough-looking physique and the leashed power in his body. How could she, when he’d used it so effectively to protect her just now? But though it was too soon to tell what sort of man he was, the dance itself was proving very revealing, even if his conversation wasn’t.
    “You did not say what brings you to London, Mr. Reyne.”
    He twirled her in a rigid circle. “Various matters.”
    “Oh, well, variety is nice. And where is your home?”
    “I live in the north.”
    He would never be accused of garrulity, Hope thought. “So, just a short stay in London?”
    “Yes. A few weeks. Perhaps longer. It depends.”
    Hope gave him a look of bright inquiry. “On what?”
    He didn’t respond. She hadn’t really expected him to. Mrs. Jenner had said he was looking for a wife. He would hardly blurt that sort of information out on the dance floor. But he was busy retreating back into formality and distance, and Hope wanted to put a stop to that. The suspicion dawned that it was stubbornness that made him so closemouthed.
    Hope had her own share of stubbornness. “And what are your impressions of the city?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “I’ve been too busy to sightsee.”
    “Oh, but that’s so dismal!” she exclaimed. “You cannot possibly visit London and not see all the famous sights. Why, when you return home, people will be quite cross with you if you cannot regale them with tales of your derring-do in the capital.”
    He said in a quelling manner. “Most people know better than to expect me to regale them with tales of derring-do.”
    Hope made a sympathetic moue. “How sad. But think how nice it will be to surprise them.”
    “Most people prefer not to be surprised,” he said seriously.
    Hope raised her brows. “Prefer not to be surprised? How strange. I adore surprises. I can see that you aren’t the loquacious sort, but it does not do to keep your light wholly under a bushel, you know. Though why anyone would keep a light under a bushel is beyond me, for a bushel is a measure of weight, is it not? I know my grandfather used to measure the wheat crop in bushels. It’s a strange expression, isn’t it?”
    He made a neutral noise. Hope smiled to herself. She knew she was rattling on, but she was determined to provoke some sort of response out of him.
    It was as if having petted the tiger and found him gentle, she was no longer as wary, and now was determined to provoke him to action.
    She said chattily, “So who are your people at home? Would I like them?”
    He gave her a forbidding look. Hope smiled artlessly up at him. She adored that stern face he put on. Tiger to lamb: “Stay away, or I’ll eat you.” Hope loved a challenge. The lamb skipped closer. One part of her wondered what on earth she was doing. The other part relished it.
    She said, “It would be such a shame if you went back to wherever you live without a single tale of derring-do. Or a visit to a famous monument. Have you seen Lord Elgin’s marbles? He brought them back from Greece, you know, and they’re thousands of years old.”
    “I have no interest in antiquities, Greek or otherwise.”
    “Well of course you haven’t!” she said, pretending to be shocked. “Nobody is interested in antiquities! But the marbles are all the rage, so you must see them. One must be à la mode, you know. My young sister is fascinated by such things, so I have become quite familiar with them. If you would like a guide, then perhaps . . .” She allowed her voice to trail off suggestively. No gentleman of her acquaintance would be able to refuse such an