To Distraction by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online

he led her to join the exodus heading for the dining room.
     
    Phoebe escaped from the dining room with the other ladies, leaving the gentlemen to pass the port.
    Entering the drawing room, she glided to where a pair of French doors set open to the pleasant evening gave her some excuse to stand alone and contemplate.
    Not that she was contemplating anything so bucolic as the view.
    Deverell had…seduced her, at least in one way. Much as she shied from the word, it was the most applicable.
    She’d entered the dining room on his arm, stiff, on guard, determined to preserve an aloof distance; Maria had doubtless imagined she was being helpful in seating them side by side. But from the moment he’d taken his seat beside her, he’d undermined her stance with questions and comments, following those with observations so acute she’d been drawn into replying against her better judgment, indeed, against her will.
    Before she’d properly comprehended his direction, she’d been absorbed.
    She knew that gentlemen like him, arrogantly powerful and not just used to getting their own way but strong enough to insist on it, should never be trusted. Yet somehow she’d fallen under the spell of conversing with a gentleman—of her class, of her generation—whose mind was as incisive, if not more so, than hers, whose tongue was just as sharp, whose vision of their society was as clear and as cynical as her own.
    If she was honest, it had been refreshing; she couldn’t recall ever enjoying a dinner—being entertained by her partner over dinner—more.
    Unfortunately she was fairly sure he knew that; when he’d stood and drawn back her chair for her to rise, she’d met his eyes and noted a certain calculation in the green. He hadn’t tried to hide it, as a lesser man—one less confident of his ability to sway her—seduce her—would have. He’d let her see, let her know, which only confirmed her view that men like him were not to be trusted. They had a deeply ingrained tendency to expect to win.
    Much as she’d enjoyed Deverell’s company, much as she’ddelighted in crossing verbal swords with him, in measuring her wits against his, he was definitely one man with whom she had no need to play.
    Restating that goal forcefully in her mind, she swung around and took stock of the company. A trio of young ladies stood nearby; she smiled at Leonora Hildebrand. “Did you and Mr. Hinckley enjoy your ride?”
    In short order she’d surrounded herself with six highly eligible young ladies. They clustered before her as she stood by the French doors; they appealed to her, as one older and clearly embracing her unwed state, for advice and information. She knew the house, the grounds, and most of the eligible gentlemen present better than they; when the gentlemen strolled in, they were engrossed in a discussion of the relative merits of nearby rides.
    As she’d anticipated, Deverell was not among the first through the door, allowing the more eager gentlemen to join their group and swell its numbers. She smiled and chatted, encouraging all to remain as one large group—protecting her.
    She kept her gaze from the drawing room door, but somewhat to her surprise she knew the instant Deverell stepped into the room; she felt his gaze on her—on her face, her throat, her shoulders. She had to fight to quell a reactive shiver—then fight to suppress her resultant frown. What on earth was it, this effect he had on her? No other gentleman had ever plucked her nerves as he seemed so effortlessly to do.
    Increasingly tense, she tracked his movements more by sense than sight. He moved into the room, but not directly to her. She risked one glance and saw him bowing over Edith’s hand, then chatting to Audrey, seated beside her aunt on a chaise across the room.
    She looked back at those about her, momentarily deaf tothe conversation. Perhaps, seeing her so bulwarked, Deverell would spend the evening learning what he could from Edith, pursuing her