Never Judge a Lady by Her Cover (RS 4)

Author:MacLean, Sarah [MacLean, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance, General, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780062068514
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2014-11-25T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

. . . Truly, there are few stars in this Season’s galaxy that shine even half as bright as our fair Lady G—. She grows ever more desired at public functions, and we have no doubt that the eligible bachelors of the ton desire her for functions that take place exclusively in chapels. As for Lord L—, however, as their company seems well-kept . . .

. . . In sad corners of ballrooms we have recently found poor, lost little lamb, Lady S—, once a welcome member of the Pitiless Pretties of the ton, now exiled for sins we cannot imagine. We have high hopes for her restoration, however, as she was seen dancing with the Marquess of E— . . .

The gossip pages of the Weekly Courant,

May 1, 1833

His house was massive, gilded and gorgeous, every inch of it appointed in the height of fashion. She stood in the main marble foyer, turning slowly, looking at the high ceilings and the wide, curving staircase that led to the upper floors of the house.

“This is beautiful,” she said, turning to face him. “I’ve never seen a home so perfectly designed.”

He leaned against a marble column nearby, arms crossed, gaze focused on her. “It keeps rain from our heads.”

She laughed. “It does more than that.”

“It’s a house.”

“Give me a tour.”

He waved an arm to the doors on the far end of the foyer. “Receiving room, receiving room, breakfast room.” And to the ones behind her. “Cynthia’s morning room, another receiving room.” He paused. “I don’t entirely know why we need so many.” He indicated a long hallway that led to the back of the house. “The kitchens and swimming pool are that way. The dining room and ballroom are one flight up.” He returned his attention to her. “The bedchambers are lovely. They deserve personal inspection.”

She laughed at his impatience. “Swimming pool?”

“Yes.”

“You realize that a swimming pool is not precisely a common addition to a London town house.”

“It’s not precisely a common addition to London,” he said, lifting one shoulder. “But I like being clean, so it makes for excellent sport.”

“So do any number of men. They take baths.”

He raised a brow. “I take baths, as well.”

“I’d like to see it.”

“You’d like to see me take a bath?” He looked positively thrilled by the idea.

She laughed. “No. I’d like to see your swimming pool.”

He considered refusing—she could see it in his eyes. After all, a tour of his home was not part of their agreed agenda for the evening. But she stood firm, until he took her hand in his—warm and large and rough from years of work—and led her through the house, down the dark hallway and through the kitchens.

He came to a closed door, and set his hand to the handle, turning back to meet her gaze, he opened the door, and indicated that she should pass into the dimly lit room beyond.

She stepped inside, first noting the barely-there light that came from a half-dozen fireplaces on the far side of the room, and then noticing how very warm it was in the room.

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