The Trouble with Honor by Julia London Read Free Book Online

husbands of your own soon enough.” Augustine smiled indulgently at Honor. “I should not like to speak out of turn, but I believe she would take great pleasure in helping those happy events along in some way.”
    “I have no doubt of it,” Honor said sincerely.
    “You should think of it, Honor. One cannot live under one’s father’s wing forever, as I am discovering myself.”
    “No, of course not.” Monica was already beginning to sow her seeds, was she? Honor was now determined more than ever to intervene before it was too late. “What a happy occasion,” she said to Augustine. “You must impress on our friend that she will not be intruding in the least, ” she said, tapping Augustine’s chest with each word for emphasis.
    The door opened; a footman stepped in. “Ah, there is your coach,” Augustine said happily. “I shall give Miss Hargrove your felicitations, shall I?”
    “You must, ” Honor insisted, and pictured herself with her hands around Monica’s neck.
    “Good day, sister,” he said jovially.
    “Good day, Augustine.” Honor watched him toddle off, whistling as he went. She turned to the door. Hardy was waiting, holding it open for her. “Lord help us all, Hardy,” she said as she swept past him.
    “Indeed, miss.”
    * * *
    H ONOR SAW M R. E ASTON the moment the coach turned onto Berkeley Square. How could she miss him? His was an imposing figure. He was leaning up against a railing, one leg crossed over the other, his arms folded loosely across him, watching people stroll across the square. That night in Southwark she’d been properly titillated by his comely face and virile presence. She now understood why he was rumored to be London’s greatest rake, his affairs numerous. His looks stirred something deep inside her.
    Honor pulled open the vent to the driver. “Jonas, please stop at Gunter’s and open the door to the gentleman in the black coat and gold waistcoat,” she called up.
    The coach turned the corner and began to slow. Honor nervously adjusted her bonnet. She had only to think of Monica and an imminent wedding to find her resolve.
    A moment later, she heard Jonas’s deep voice. The coach door swung open, and Mr. Easton, still perched against the railing, leaned to his right and looked inside. Honor smiled. “Good afternoon!”
    He pushed away from the railing and came to his full height. He was quite tall, wasn’t he? With his muscular legs and broad shoulders he looked too big to fit into the coach. He strolled toward it now, his expression inscrutable. Just like that evening in Southwark, he had an uncanny way of looking at her that made Honor feel as if he was seeing right through her, seeing her cards, even the thoughts in her head. She’d felt fluttery that night, as if a thousand butterflies had nested within her chest.
    She was feeling fluttery again.
    He paused just outside the open coach door, arched a brow and said, “Your stepbrother must be dining elsewhere.”
    Honor swallowed down her nerves. “Won’t you come inside, Mr. Easton?”
    He cocked his head to one side, assessing her, his gaze nonchalantly taking her in, from her bonnet to the hem of her gown. The slightest shadow of a smile turned up one corner of his mouth. He reached for the coach handle and easily came inside, swaying the coach as he settled heavily across from her and the door swung shut behind him.
    Honor had guessed right—he was too big for the coach. His knees framed both of hers, and his body very nearly filled the bench. He sat casually, one arm stretched across the back of the squabs. He reminded her of a wolf, calmly watching a hare hop across the path.
    He inclined his head. “Miss Cabot.”
    “Mr. Easton, how do you do?” She rapped on the ceiling and called up, “A drive around the park, please, Mr. Jonas.” She closed the vent and smiled at her guest. “Thank you for coming.”
    “How could I possibly resist such an unusual invitation?” His voice was smooth and