Winning a Lady's Heart by Christi Caldwell Read Free Book Online

Standing before her was the same man who’d sent her running to Danby’s Yorkshire estate, the very same man who’d broken her heart—Nathan.

Nathan hungrily devoured Alexandra with his eyes. Since the moment she’d walked out of that card room seven days ago, he’d been filled with guilt for having hurt her and more pain that he’d ever imagined possible at losing her. A fog of emptiness had besieged him—until that summons from the Duke of Danby.
    Longing for any connection to her, he’d set out at a reckless speed, uncaring it had been sent by her grandfather, one of the most powerful peers in the realm. His meeting with Danby, however, had been nothing short of staggering.
    “Your Grace, my lady,” he murmured, unable to tear his eyes away from Alexandra’s stiffly held form.
    Her skin was pale, and it appeared a strong winter gust of wind could knock her from the very seat she occupied. He ached to cross the room, to pull her in his arms, and erase all the hurt he saw there.
    But he’d lost that right.
    “What are you doing here?” she whispered.
    Nathan didn’t speak. Words, in that moment, eluded him.
    Alexandra seemed to emerge from the daze of confusion, for she gave a forceful shake of her head and flew from her chair. She glared at him then whipped around to face the duke.
    “Order him from the grounds at once, Your Grace. Tell him…” Her words faded on a gasp.
    She staggered back a step, a hand clutched tightly to her breast. She knew it had been Danby who’d summoned him. Blast it all.
    “Why would you betray me like this, Your Grace?” she pleaded.
    “Alexandra, I spoke to you earlier about your melodramatics.”
    A harsh, bitter laugh escaped her, filled the air around him, and Nathan felt a stab of pain with the realization that it had been he who’d killed the innocent sound of joy that had first captivated him.
    How had he ever allowed himself to deliberately hurt her? What kind of bastard had he been? The kind of bastard who’d thought he was saving her from himself, the voice on his shoulder nudged. The kind who had been foolishly convinced that she was better off without him.
    Seeing her now, broken and hurting, he was hard-pressed to believe she was, in fact, better off.
    His throat worked painfully. He held up an entreating hand towards her.
    “I—I need you to know, it was never my intention to hurt you.” His words came out scratchy from three days of ill use and fatigue.
    Another one of those mirthless laughs met his words, and he dropped his hand to his side.
    Alexandra pointedly ignored him, choosing to direct her attention to Danby, who was watching their exchange with a hawk-like intensity.

    Alexandra told herself not to look at Nathan. It was a roaring reminder, ripping through her mind with the blaring sound of a crowded ballroom in the height of the Season.
    It was futile. Her eyes found him. Damn her for being a weak creature; the sight of him made her breath quicken.
    Why did he have to be so blasted beautiful? Why must he be over six feet tall and have whipcord strength? His dark hair, with the faintest curl, would have been soft on most men, but Nathan had the look of a fallen angel. His eyes were the color of those same azure blue clouds the cherubs up in heaven danced upon with regular frequency.
    And at the moment, those eyes were trained intently on her.
    He gave the faintest nod in the duke’s direction, alerting her to the fact that Danby had directed a question her way. Or statement. She hadn’t been listening.
    “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?” she snapped.
    Danby smiled with amusement.
    “I’m glad my displeasure so pleases you,” she said, surprised by her audacity.
    “Your recently acquired backbone pleases me.” He tipped his head over at Nathan. “Whether you like it or not, gel, he’s to be my guest. My suggestion is you put aside some of that Whitton fury and open those eyes. I know you have a brain in your head.”
    Somehow it