Hayley Ann Solomon Read Online Free

of the spectacles.
    “Well, naturally, for you excel in the instrument, and I am certain his lordship would be pleased to hear.”
    “Mama . . .” Fern cast beseeching eyes at Lady Reynolds, but it was perfectly useless. She wondered frantically whether to mention the spectacles, but thought she might be sunk in deeper disgrace if she did—deeper than she was in already. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she was certain even Edgemont the butler was frowning his disapproval.
    Trapped, she agreed, thinking, rather sadly, that perhaps it was all for the best. Warwick would be so revolted by her performance that he would feel perfectly in his rights to withdraw his offer. After all, nothing was formalized, there had been no announcement, and she frantically hoped no banns. It would be a small thing for him to elegantly withdraw.
    Indeed, she hoped he did. But something inside her was miserable, hopelessly miserable, and she was forced to scrub at her eyes again, so that Warwick eyed her keenly and her mama actually kicked her under the table. And how her slippered feet hurt!
    “Ouch!” Fern glared at her mother, then remembered herself. Warwick, more acute than some might think, almost precisely inferred what had occurred. His sympathies, strangely, were aroused. Whatever the chit was up to, he was certain she would be in disgrace for a sennight at least if he did not intervene.
    “Actually, it is such a fine night I think I might prefer to promenade a little, if you don’t mind. The air shall clear my head, and the stars at Evensides seem particularly bright.”
    Lady Reynolds seemed clearly put out by this announcement.
    “Oh, but Lord Warwick, I did so particularly wish you to hear Fern play! She might be tiresomely modest, but even I, who have no ear at all—though Lord Derby once said I could sing like an angel—knows that my daughter has a talent!”
    Talent for trouble, more like, Warwick thought grimly, raising an inquiring brow in Fern’s direction.
    “It is naturally up to you, then, Miss Reynolds. I shall be delighted to listen to a recital, but equally delighted, if you prefer, to take a stroll with you upon the balcony.”
    He was being reasonable, and moderate, but Fern felt unconscionably cross. Caught between the frying pan and the fire! If she played, she would make a fool of herself; if she strolled, she would very likely trip over her skirts and fall headlong to her death. She did not, even to herself, think of the more likely danger—that she would fall headlong, not to her death, but in love.
    For Lord Warwick, despite his arrogant assumptions, was everything she remembered. Not that she could actually see him, of course, but she could almost feel him across the table from her, and every nerve, somehow, was strained. She was certain that if she took the offered turn on the balcony, she would do something perfectly reprehensible, like offering up her lips to be kissed. Then, of course, there would be no crying off. For a second the prospect was tempting, but Fern did not want Warwick to triumph thus. She was positive it would be bad for his psyche. Besides, he was rude and arrogant and grossly overbearing.
    She must never allow herself to forget that he had not so much as dignified her with a proposal. Not even a decent conversation, let alone a proposal! Her bodice swelled a little with indignation. She churned her anger up, for else, she knew, she would disgrace herself by responding to his charm. Oh, he was charming, undoubtedly—the whole of London seemed to speak of little else. And a rake, too, she suspected, though naturally a well-brought-up lady like herself could have little knowledge of such matters.
    Warwick, eyeing her across the table, wondered what she was thinking. Her thoughts were obviously tumultuous, for her breathing was slightly shallower, and her cheeks, flushed before, were now almost crimson. His dark eyes lighted with sudden amusement. He would wager a pony her