Stages of Desire Read Online Free Page A

freckles across his face.
    â€œYes, the portrait,” said Lord Abingdon. “My father insisted the artist change the color of my hair in the painting to match that of my brothers and sister. He desired a complete set, if you will.”
    Like Mr. Hopplehill’s matching steeds. How silly men could be.
    The gentleman standing before her had a strong jawline and an athletic build suggesting time spent outdoors on the playing fields. The youthful freckles had faded with time.
    â€œI’m so sorry, my lord.” How brazen she’d been, handling his books without permission. If only she could disappear. “I should never have come in here. I do hope you’ll forgive me.”
    â€œI’m curious to know how you got on the invitation list. I’m fairly certain my sister didn’t invite any actresses. Or former actresses.”
    His haughtiness was maddening and her compassion quickly dissipated. Earlier, when they’d discussed Shakespeare, she’d enjoyed his teasing, assuming he was another guest taking refuge from the festivities. Yet he’d allowed her to go on about plays and curses and she’d made a fool of herself. A burning shame rose up in her.
    â€œHarriet?” Marianne poked her head into the room, her demeanor as disapproving as Lord Abingdon’s. “What on earth are you doing in here?”
    The moment Marianne caught sight of Lord Abingdon, her steeliness melted away. “Why, my lord, I wondered where you ran off to.” While her delivery remained dulcet, her eyes bore into Harriet. “I didn’t realize you were acquainted with my sister.”
    Lord Abingdon stepped back from her, bewildered, and Harriet relished his discomfort.
    â€œYour sister?” He stared at Harriet, then over at Marianne.
    Marianne sauntered to her side and linked arms. “Well, almost my sister. It’s a long story, I’m afraid. Miss Farley, allow me to introduce Lord Abingdon. My lord, Miss Farley.”
    Harriet curtseyed and turned to leave. “Please excuse me. I’ve been keeping his lordship from his guests for long enough.”
    â€œI have time.” His deliberate enunciation brought her to a halt. “Do tell me how you acquired your faux sister, Lady Marianne.”
    Marianne flashed him a coquettish smile, obviously pleased to be the focus of attention. “When I was a young girl, I was terribly ill. One day we were at our estate and a traveling troupe of actors put on a show in the courtyard. I was quite taken with Harriet. She was a child, like I was, but she played the drum and sang the silliest songs in the prettiest voice.” Marianne gazed up at her and then, infuriatingly, lightly chucked her under the chin with her gloved hand. “I wanted her for myself, so Papa and Mama agreed to take her in. As time went on, I grew stronger and now I’m perfectly healthy. My father used to say before he died that Harriet was my cure.”
    Harriet hated this story. It made her sound like a doll her father had sold to the highest bidder, a possession to be bandied about. She couldn’t read Lord Abingdon’s expression. In the course of a few minutes, he’d treated her as a member of the upper classes, then a common strumpet, and now he was looking at her as if she were a puppy that narrowly escaped being drowned in the Thames. She hated pity.
    â€œI see.” His voice was devoid of emotion.
    â€œShe’s been such a comfort to me and Mama, particularly since Papa passed away.”
    Lord Abingdon placed the stopper back on the decanter. “I am pleased to hear that. Shall we return?” He held out his elbow and Marianne took it with relish while Harriet stood awkwardly by.
    â€œNow I haven’t been able to locate your own sister this evening,” said Marianne. “I must remonstrate, as you’d promised to introduce us.”
    He frowned slightly. “Lady Claire was taken ill again,