Venetia by Georgette Heyer Read Free Book Online

wouldn‟t have  molested me? How chivalrous!”
    “No, no, I‟m not chivalrous!” he said, mocking her. “The presence of your maid would have checkmated me, not your quality.   I’m   not complaining, but I wonder at such a little
    beauty‟s venturing to roam about the country alone. Or don‟t you know how beautiful you are?”
    “Yes,” replied Venetia, taking the wind out of his sails. “ Item, two lips, indifferent red   ” —
    “Oh, no, you‟re quite out, and have gone to the wrong poet besides!   They look like  rosebuds filled with snow !”
    “Is that from   Cherry-ripe ?” she demanded. He nodded, much entertained by her suddenly  intent look. Her eyes sparkled with triumph; she uttered a tiny gurgle of laughter; and retorted:  “Then I know what comes next!   Jet them no peer nor prince can buy, Till Cherry-ripe   themselves   do cry ! So let   that   be a lesson to you to take care what poets you choose!”
    “But you‟re  enchanting!” he exclaimed.
    She put out her hands quickly, to hold him off. “No!”
    He caught her wrists, and swept them behind her, clipping them in the small of her back,  and so holding her chest to chest. Her heart beat fast; she felt breathless, but not afraid.
    “Yes!” he said, still mocking. “You should have run away, my golden girl, while you had  the chance to do it!”
    “I know I should, and I can‟t think why I did not,” she replied, incurably candid.
    “I could hazard a guess.”
    She shook her head. “No. Not if you mean it was because I wanted you to kiss me again,  for I don‟t. I can‟t prevent you, for my strength is so much less than yours. You needn‟t even fear  to be called to account for it. My brother is a schoolboy, and—very lame. Perhaps you already know that?”

    “No, and I‟m much obliged to you for telling me! I need have no scruples, I see.”
    She looked up at him searchingly, trying to read his mind, for although he jeered she  thought his voice had a bitter edge. Then, as she stared into his eyes she saw them smiling yet  fierce, and a line of Byron‟s flashed into her head:   There was a laughing devil in his sneer.   “Oh,  do let me go!” she begged. “I‟ve suddenly had the most diverting thought! Oh, dear!   Poor   Oswald!”
    He was quite taken aback, as much by the genuine amusement in her face as by what she  had said, and he did let her go. “You‟ve suddenly had the most diverting thought?” he repeated  blankly.
    “Thank you!” said Venetia, giving her crushed dress a little shake. “Yes, indeed I have,  though I  daresay you might not think it a very good joke, but that‟s because you don‟t know  Oswald.”
    “Well, who the devil is he? Your brother?”
    “Good God, no! He is Sir John Denny‟s son, and the top of his desire is to be mistaken  for the   Corsair.   He combs his hair into wild curls, knots silken handkerchiefs round his neck,  and broods over the dark passions in his soul.”
    “Does he, indeed? And what has this puppy to say to anything?”
    She picked up her basket. “Only that if ever he meets you he will be quite   green   with  jealousy, for you are precisely what he thinks   he   would like to be—even though you don‟t study  the picturesque in your attire.”
    He looked thunderstruck for a moment, and ejaculated, “A Byronic hero—! Oh, my God!  Why, you abominable—” He broke off, as a cock pheasant exploded out of the wood, and said  irritably: “ Must   that worthless dog of yours make my birds as wild as be-damned?”
    “Yes, because my brother doesn‟t like him to do so at Undershaw, which is why I  brought him with me today. Putting up game is what he particularly enjoys doing, and as he‟s  quite useless as a gun-dog, poor fellow, he gets very few opportunities to do it. Do you object? I  can‟t see why you should, when you never come here to shoot!”
    “I never   have   done so!” he