Garden Folly by A Garden Folly

Author:A Garden Folly
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter10

He was actually spying on his own home.

It made no sense. It was the height of absurdity. But that was precisely what Stephen was doing. He skulked in the depths of the box hedge near the south front terrace and spied on his mother's party.

He had no idea what had made him do such a damned fool thing. No, that was not true. He knew exactly what had made him do it.

Miss Catherine Forsythe.

She had kicked him in the gut with her matter-of-fact revelations of fortune hunting. She had made him despise her. But instead of just forgetting about her, he had developed this insane notion of watching her 'in her world' to see if she was as cold and callous as she had sounded. Would she shamelessly throw herself at every wealthy gentleman in attendance? Would she flirt and connive and seduce until she got what she wanted? Would she allow liberties and then claim compromise? Was she so single-minded in her purpose?

It was somehow important that he find out. He could see her even now. She had been on the south terrace for some time. With Miles. The moonlight glinted off her blond hair and he realized he was seeing her for the first time without a bonnet. Had it been only that morning when he had imagined taking off her hat and letting her hair hang free? It was not hanging free, of course, but at least he could see that it was not cropped. It was pulled off her face and pinned at the back of her head in a riot of soft curls. He thought he would still like to see it hanging loose and free. But he had no business thinking any such thing, for he despised her.

His eyes were drawn away from her hair, to her neck, to her throat, and to the expanse of bosom and the shadow of cleavage revealed by the low neckline of her clingy blue dress. He had most often seen her in the mornings, when she was usually buttoned right up to her chin. He had never, of course, failed to note the curves beneath; but as he saw those curves more fully exposed in the flesh, it was enough to stir a man's blood in a highly uncomfortable way. He wondered how Miles was handling it, standing so close as he was.

Though others strolled about on the terrace and the garden just below, she and Miles appeared totally absorbed with one another. More than once, she flashed him one of her brilliant smiles—the same smile that had more than once singed Stephen all the way to his toes. Were Miles' toes burning? He could not tell, but the man was smiling. Dammit, but she had worked her wiles on his best friend; and stolid, upstanding, thoroughly decent Miles appeared to have fallen for it.

Perhaps Stephen should warn him. Perhaps he should tell his friend what he knew about Miss Catherine Forsythe before she got her fortune-hunting claws inextricably into him.

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