White Regency 03 - White Knight by Jaclyn Reding Read Free Book Online

as if it were perfectly reasonable for a woman to have come popping out
of the woodwork. Grace, on the other hand, felt utterly humiliated. It wasn’t
until Lord Knighton lowered before her, resting his forearm on his thigh while
he held out his other hand to her, that she even realized she was still
sprawled ignominiously upon his carpet.
    “Unless you have acquired a sudden
fondness for my carpeting, might I suggest we find more equal footing?”
    Cheeks burning, she placed her gloved hand
into his, coming as quickly as she could to her feet. She opened her mouth to
speak but no words would come out. She couldn’t quite decide if it would be
considered proper in such situations to thank a half-naked man for assisting a
lady to her feet. So Grace merely stood, her curls askew, silent as a
candlestick while Lord Knighton finished dressing. She was suddenly reminded of
Eleanor’s words earlier that evening, telling how the other ladies had been so
bold and relentless in their pursuit of her brother’s attention. She had just
fallen through the wall into Lord Knighton’s dressing room—where Lord Knighton
was presently dressing. Somehow she didn’t think there would be a more
undignified manner for one to “throw oneself” at a man.
    There was one thing that was certain:
Seeing him now only brought Grace to understanding exactly why ladies were
blacking one another’s eyes to get near to him. Christian Wycliffe, Marquess
Knighton was, quite simply, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Hair that
was a deep chestnut brown swept back from his forehead to fall about the stark
white of his high collar. He had the sort of face that sculptors committed to
marble— clean, strong, inherently powerful. Tall and lean, he carried himself
with an air of noble distinction. One need not be told he was the heir to the
wealthiest dukedom in England. Everything about him declared it.
    “I… uh…” Grace faltered,
somehow suddenly unable to speak. How in heaven’s name was she going to explain
her appearance there? “I was looking for my uncle…”
    He quirked a brow. “Your uncle, is
it? Well that’s as good a tale as any. It happens all the time, although I
would say you are certainly more inventive than the others. This is the first
time I’ve ever had anyone come through my dressing room wall.”
    Grace watched then as he took up his
coat—elegant black—and put it on, taking his time in adjusting his cuffs. He
is angry. He thinks I have come here in hopes of catching him as a husband,
like one of the “helpless hopefuls,” she thought to herself. If only he knew the truth. But it was too ridiculous a notion to even laugh
at.
    He was watching her, quite obviously
awaiting her name, a thing she wasn’t about to give. Instead she intended to
get out of there as quickly as she could manage.
    Grace started for the door. “Truly, I
was looking for my uncle and I got lost…” The thought of sharing a dance
with him now was beyond comprehension. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. I
shouldn’t have come here.”
    As she made for the door, the marquess
stepped directly in her path, effectively preventing her from leaving. Grace’s
heart was pounding as she stared up at him. His eyes, she noticed, had changed
from silver blue to smoky, dangerous slate.
    “Surely you don’t expect to leave so
soon after you went through such effort to get here.”
    His smile had changed, too, into something
infinitely more predatory. Grace swallowed against a sudden nervous tightening
in her throat. “I’m afraid I do not understand, my lord.”
    “That, Miss Whoever-You-Are, is
precisely my point. Didn’t your mother ever warn you against the dangers of
entering a man’s bedchamber?”
    Grace frowned at his sarcasm, a small part
of her pulling deep inside. “My mother died when I was a child.”
    For a moment, she thought she saw a
softening in his expression, but it didn’t remain that way long. “Allow me
to instruct you