To Tempt a Saint by Kate Moore Read Free Book Online Page A

faded at once. Seduction was an interesting choice of words . “I should follow your advice then and notice that fetching gown you are wearing.”
    She unhitched her skirts from her waist and let them fall. “You might as well admire the barn as this dress.”
    “The barn doesn’t cling so well to your person or bring out the color in your eyes.” He didn’t lie.
    She laughed, a fresh, spontaneous sound, dangerous to listen to, because he’d like to hear it again. “Stop. You mustn’t think that I require false coin from you.”
    “I think what you require is cash.” He meant to stick to his purpose. Any sexual interest in her would only complicate his plan.
    Her lively glance sobered at once and fixed on him. “Is that what you’re offering me?”
    “I promise you I am a more generous banker than Evershot.”
    “I don’t want a banker.” She began to pace as she had in Evershot’s office, as if the energy of her thoughts could not be contained, back and forth across the dry grass until she halted in front of him again. Her hands flew up in a quick gesture of disdain. “Why should men always be the bankers?” Another slash of the hands. “Why shouldn’t I have charge of my own money and sit on a throne of golden guineas and let you come begging to me on your knees?” Those angry hands came to rest on her hips.
    “In that case, you would be a most unaccommodating heiress.”
    The green gaze measured him, full of hostility and longing. “No.” She turned away from him, and a startled thrush nearby took flight at her sudden vehemence.
    Xander regarded the girl’s profile. He could see the round curve of her cheek, a curl tucked in the hollow behind her ear, and the delicate ridge of her spine. There was not much to her, far less than Miss Finsbury offered. She was prickly as a holly bush and haughty to boot. He should have no sympathy for her, but he understood the desire to control one’s own money. His mother had taught him how essential that control was to a woman’s independence.
    Cleo Spencer’s arms were crossed in front of her, held tightly to her body.
    One fist emerged and swiped at her eyes.
    Hell! He stepped forward and took hold of her shoulders, turning her to face him. “Let’s try again, shall we? Miss Spencer, would you like to gain access to your fortune by marrying me?”
    “What do you intend to do with my twenty thousand pounds, Sir Alexander Jones?”
    Trust her to keep her mind on the money. “Purchase the East London Gas Company and restore its operations.”
    Eyes green and gold as summer, luminous with tears, stared at him, then she smiled and let out a brief hiccup of a laugh. “Your talent for flattery astonishes. I am a gasworks. It is a fresh comparison, not overused by poets to be sure.” She stepped back out of his hold and dried her eyes with her sleeve. “What will you do with your gasworks?”
    “Light St. Giles.”
    “No wonder you are looking for heiresses. No bank would fund such a venture.”
    “Just so.”
    “Paying your gaming debts would be more profitable. Why St. Giles? Why not some fashionable quarter of London where you could make a profit and a name for yourself?”
    He didn’t like that reference to making a name for himself. It meant she understood a bit too much of the scene she’d overheard. “Scores of investors are willing to light the palaces of the rich and titled. No one is quite so willing to bring light where it’s most needed.”
    She studied him frankly, her head tilted to one side. “You don’t look like a saint to me.”
    “Believe me, Miss Spencer, I am no saint.”
    “What sort of marriage are you proposing?”
    It was his turn to pause. He had intended to bed Miss Finsbury in the approved manner, but he was honest enough with himself to acknowledge that his conjugal visits were likely to have been few and far between. Maybe in the end that reluctance had been impossible to overcome.
    Cleo Spencer presented a different