Heaven Sent the Wrong One Read Online Free Page A

now that he saw the Earl's daughter was indeed not the sort of lady he preferred.
    He straightened as the countess approached where they stood.
    "Mister Carlyle, may I present Lady Alexandra Davenport?" The countess drew the lady before Andy.
    Andy did a semblance of a bow and then both stared wordlessly with a look of ambiguity at each other.
    The lady's maid immediately resuscitated the awkward gap in conversation. "Mister Carlyle, I beg your forgiveness in behalf of Lady Alexandra Davenport," her speech was surprisingly cultured and com posed. "She had been indisposed and had regretfully, in the interim, lost her voice. Nevertheless, she would like to express her paramount pleasure in finally making your acquaintance."
    Allayne raised a bemused brow. Oho! Is this some kind of a jest? What a queer coincidence!
    He peered curiously at the maid who was a little taller than average. Her dress was a few inches shorter than where the hem should be and her face was partly hidden by a plain cap with a wide brim.
    "Please—it is of no consequence, Lady Alexandra," Allayne addressed the lady, but his eyes remained on the maid. "Mister Carlyle likewise finds himself in a similar predicament. Allow me to express his earnest entrancement in meeting you at last."
    The ma id raised her chin.
    Their eyes collided.
    Allayne suppressed his astonishment. Good Lord—the girl has the face of a mythical goddess—the nymph Daphne freed from the sanctum of a laurel tree.
    She has the most expressive large brown eyes he had ever seen; fra med with dark lashes so thick they would never need blacking. A sprinkling of faint freckles made her small, straight nose more endearing—giving him the irrational urge to plant a kiss on its tip. And her mouth—Good God—so pink and full, it made him imagine how it would feel like, engulfing his rigid—
    Allayne shook himself and raised the valise he was carrying to conceal the rapidly growing bulge in his crotch. What the fuck was he thinking?
    Fucking the maid, the little voice in his head whispered. That's how low you've sunk in the hierarchy of humanity.
    Allayne puckered his brows, a mixture of self-reproach and self-indulgence battling in his brain.
    The countess said something to Andy and he glanced at them, at Andy's fine clothes, and then his own. A slow, wicked smile curved on his lips. He was a valet—a servant, not a viscount's son—at least for the next two weeks.
    His gaze settled on the maid.
    Oh, no-no-no, the pesky little voice's protest echoed in the back of his temporarily illogical mind.
    Oh, yes-yes -yes, Allayne tipped the corners of his mouth to unleash his dimples—his secret weapons, at the poor unsuspecting maid—and turned a deaf ear to the further dictates of his irksome conscience.

Chapter 4
    The Maid
     
    A lexandra couldn't stop staring at the companion of the viscount's son. My-oh-my , he was even more handsome up close and taller than she had originally thought.
    She herself was not of average height. She stood at eye-level, if not taller than most men. Indeed, at th e time of her London Season, she had always felt like a lamppost in a sea of petite debutantes. Yet, in spite of that fact, the top of her head barely reached his chin.
    What a novelty —and a relief! She did not have to slouch or fix her hair flat to lessen her tallness. For the first time, she felt utterly at ease with herself—not some lumbering, ungainly, lanky pile of absurdity trying to appear inconspicuous. Finally, here was a man she could look up to—literally.
    She lifted her chin to catch his attention.
    His gaze lowered, capturing her with those stunning, curly-lashed green eyes.
    She must be dreaming—or seeing things—because his delicious mouth curved up to partly reveal straight white teeth, bestowing her with a dimpled smile.
    Lord, could the re be a man more charming than this specimen before her? Where was he when she was younger, when her idealism transformed her into a silly