The Uncatchable Miss Faversham by Elizabeth Moss Read Free Book Online Page A

that of the flirtatious Miss Eleanor Faversham, the Uncatchable Heiress.
        That role had saved her from many awkward situations in the past five years, allowing her to turn aside the most ardent of suitors with a laugh and a delicate compliment.
        Eleanor forced herself to lie still, and allowed her arms, hitherto clutching at his shoulders in panic, to drape themselves languidly about his neck.
        ‘What, will you carry me all the way back to Faversham Hall?’ Shakily, she managed a flirtatious laugh and looked up at his face through lowered lashes. ‘Indeed, my lord, you are too chivalrous. Rushing to my aid like the Good Samaritan! Though who could condemn such an action on the part of a neighbour?’
        ‘Who indeed?’
        She heard the light contempt in his voice and fought the urge to break free of this man’s embrace. She refused to let Lord Sallinger see her vulnerability where he was concerned; who knew how he might use such knowledge against her?
        ‘You must think me very foolish, my lord, to have slipped and fallen in the mud like that.’
        ‘I think you have ruined your gown.’
        His voice was back to icy formality. She hated it, yet was oddly thankful to hear that note. She preferred contempt to the burning dark gaze he had shown her a few moments before.
        ‘That doesn’t signify at all. I have many gowns. But my ankle …’ She bit her lip in mock-dismay. ‘Now that is a serious blow indeed. I have a mountain of engagements planned this spring. Will my ankle be strong enough for dancing by the time I return to London, do you think?’
        Nathaniel’s arms tightened about her and he glanced away, looking across the valley as he began the slow, treacherously slippery descent to the lake.
        ‘Regretfully, I am no doctor and cannot give you an answer. Better lie still now,’ he replied.
       
    Dancing, indeed!
        Nathaniel took care not to slip with Eleanor in his arms, much as he now repented that impulsive, unthinking decision to leap the stile and rescue her from the mud. Eleanor might be beautiful, but her beauty was marred by her light, flirtatious character. The rumours were certainly true; Miss Eleanor Faversham had changed since making her home in London, and not for the better. He had seen proof of it last night, her peacock-like appearance in that silk gown, and now all she could think of was whether this tumble might have ruined her chances of enjoying herself in the arms of some smooth-tongued London beau.
        His voice hardened as he added, ‘You know of my old injury. You would not wish me to drop you, I think.’
        ‘Indeed, sir, I would not.’
        Her laughter grated at his nerves. How much of it was aimed at him and his weak leg?
        Oh yes, Eleanor was the catch of society now, a stunning piece, even in this old, muddied gown, her hair quite wild without a bonnet. He risked a swift glance down into her face, then fervently wished he had not. She looked as though she needed to be kissed, and kissed fiercely, her body brought back to life in his arms.
        Yet for all her flirting and easy ways, he would stand no chance with her. Not any longer. Eleanor had learnt to scorn men, her standards so impossibly high that no man had found himself able to please her enough for marriage.
        He could only imagine what such a beautiful woman must think of the countrified Lord Sallinger with his ugly scars and limping gait.
        The pain of those grim thoughts ate away at him. Nonetheless, he controlled himself, keeping all emotion out of his voice. ‘I trust this will not prevent you from dining with us tomorrow night, ma’am. My sister is most eager to see you again.’
        ‘Prevent me, sir? I vow it cannot happen.’ Eleanor smiled up at him invitingly and then, apparently unaware of the effect she was having on him, rested her head against his chest. Her tone was lightly teasing. ‘I