The Truth About Love by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online

recognizable as a mother with daughters to establish; her bright eyes and gushing comments explained why Barnaby was on the other side of the room.
    Returning his empty cup, Gerrard excused himself and followed.
    Of course, neither he nor Barnaby could truly escape. They would remain the cynosure of local attention until the novelty of their presence faded.
    Avoiding the chaise on which Lady Fritham sat absorbed in spirited argument with the severe Mrs. Elcott—clad in gray twill that matched her gray hair, the vicar’s wife behaved as if holding herself ready to be scandalized at any moment—he walked down the room to where the younger crew was holding court, Barnaby unsurprisingly center stage.
    The Misses Myles saw him approaching, and quickly shifted to create a space between them. He smiled his practiced smile, and with an easy nod strolled around the group to Jacqueline Tregonning’s side.
    Although following Barnaby’s tale, she sensed him draw near. She glanced fleetingly up at him, then moved aside to allow him to stand beside her. Detecting exasperation in her brief glance, Gerrard wondered…then realized she couldn’t study him while he was standing next to her.
    His lips eased, curved.
    Across the circle, the Misses Myles’s eyes brightened. Without appearing to notice, Gerrard gave his attention to Barnaby. The last thing he wished was to raise any hopes in the Misses Myles’s young breasts.
    The thought had him glancing discreetly down, to his left, to where Jacqueline’s breasts rose above the scooped neckline of her gown. Her skin was flawless, creamy white; his fingertips tingled—he would wager that skin was rose-petal soft.
    Although of perfectly acceptable style for a young lady some years beyond her first season, Jacqueline’s endowments filled out the gown in a manner guaranteed to draw gentlemen’s eyes. Retrieving his gaze, Gerrard glanced around the circle; other than Barnaby, who he was aware had noticed, the other two gentlemen seemed oblivious of Jacqueline’s charms. Contempt for the familiar, or…?
    In between attending Barnaby’s story, Mitchel Cunningham ignored the Myles sisters and shot brief, very brief, glances at Eleanor Fritham, Lady Fritham’s daughter. Eleanor was indeed a beauty, a touch older than Jacqueline and in very different style. She was taller, reed slender, with alabaster skin and long, pale fair hair. Her eyes were cerulean blue, her lashes and brows brown. She was using them shamelessly on Barnaby, her attention slavishly fixed on him.
    Much good would it do her. She might be a beauty, yet Gerrard instinctively knew she was unlikely to be of serious interest to either him or Barnaby.
    Noting another of Cunningham’s swift glances, Gerrard made a mental note to mention the association to Barnaby, purely in pursuit of a peaceful existence, something Barnaby appreciated as much as he.
    The brevity of Cunningham’s glances was almost certainly attributable to the other gentleman in the group, Eleanor’s older brother, Jordan Fritham. A brown-haired, precociously superior gentleman in his mid-twenties, he stood between his sister and the Myles girls. Taking in Jordan’s stance, Gerrard smothered a grin. The sketch that sprang to life in his mind was titled: “Cock of the Local Walk Greatly Displeased by the Appearance of Interlopers on His Patch.”
    Barnaby and he were the interlopers, yet as far as Gerrard could tell, it wasn’t his attention to Jacqueline but Eleanor’s to Barnaby that was ruffling Jordan’s feathers. He strove to hide his reaction, but there was a hard glint in his eyes, a twist to his thin lips that screamed his irritation.
    “So when Monteith came thundering up in his curricle thinking he’d won”—Barnaby struck a dramatic pose—“there was George Bragg, leaning on his whip, waiting to greet him!”
    The Myles sisters gasped; Eleanor Fritham’s eyes glowed with laughter. With an engaging grin, Barnaby concluded his tale of