The Pleasure Trap by Elizabeth Thornton Read Free Book Online Page A

staring at him as though she expected him to pounce on her. He was tempted to laugh. Since diplomacy was getting him nowhere, he came straight to the point.
    “Do you know who Angelo is?”
    The wariness in her eyes cleared. “Angelo?”
    “The author who got on the wrong side of the hecklers.”
    “No.” She almost smiled. “I’d never heard of him until today. I still don’t understand what all the fuss is about. What did he do that was so awful?”
    “I gather some of his stories are based on real events and real characters.”
    She set down her empty glass, but she didn’t try to run away. Evidently, she was no longer wary of him. “Some of my stories are based on real events,” she said. “Every writer could say the same. However, using real characters is a tricky business. If they are recognizable, an author can be sued for slander, or is it libel? I can never remember the difference.”
    He said carefully, “You’ve never read one of Angelo’s stories?”
    “No. I live in Henley, and the
Herald
is a London paper.”
    When she looked a question at him, he said, “I’m almost sure that he’s a woman, one of your colleagues, perhaps.”
    There was a momentary silence as she digested this, then she said, “What makes you say so?”
    “The style. The voice, as my cousin Amanda calls it. Angelo’s work has a Gothic feel. Women don’t write the same way as men, and Gothic writers in particular use flowery prose and exaggerate every emotion. I’m basing my opinion on the readings I heard today. Take your own work, for instance. I’ve read one of your books and—”
    “Yes, Lady Amanda told me.” Her voice was crisp. “What about my work? Oh, don’t hold back because I’m a female. I’m a novelist, Lord Denison, not a delicate flower, and you are entitled to your opinion.”
    He’d been on the point of telling her how much he’d enjoyed her book, but the snap in her voice and the ice in her eyes tested his patience. He liked women, really liked them, and they liked him. Even his former lovers had nothing but good to say about him. This little harridan had gone too far.
    As blunt as he could be, he said, “Your hero is too bland. Anemic, in fact. And when he takes the heroine into his arms, he shouldn’t be spouting poetry or comparing her to some distant star.”
    By degrees they’d moved closer. They were almost nose to nose. She let out a huff of breath. “And you would know all about it?”
    He almost smirked. “I’m a male. You bet I know all about it.”
    “So, tell me, Lord Denison, how should my hero act?”
    “Like this,” he said.
    She gave a little start when his thumb brushed her lips and sucked in a breath when his hand cupped her neck. It took very little to bring her lips close to his. Their warm breath mingled. She didn’t struggle, nor did she yield. Her eyes stared defiantly into his.
    Against her lips, he whispered, “He wouldn’t be talking at all. He’d be wondering how he could get her into bed.”
    He released her at once and steeled himself for the obligatory slap he thought he deserved. Mrs. Barrymore did the unexpected. She laughed and got to her feet.
    Shaking her head, she said, “What you have to understand, Lord Denison, is that in my books, the heroes are accessories, like a fan or a handkerchief. My heroines are my heroes.” She turned away, then turned back. “Thank you for the glass of water.”
    “My pleasure,” he responded, but this time he made sure the lady understood he was not harmless.
    He watched her as she made a dignified retreat. From this angle, he had a better idea of the figure she tried to hide with the shapeless gown—straight spine, small waist, and a curvaceous bottom. He really would like the dressing of her.
    When she disappeared up the stairs, he got up and returned to the symposium. Jason Ford found him in quiet reflection a few minutes later.
    “Why the smile?” Jason asked.
    Without thinking, Ash replied, “I was