Touch of a Lady Read Online Free

Florence wondered if they could possibly be real since the young woman boasted no title.
    Florence leaned toward Sanders to whisper behind her fan. “All I can say is if the neckline of her bodice were any lower, she’d need to rouge her nipples.” Some women did just that for nights at the opera in London or intimate dinner parties.
    “Maybe you ought to bring out the paint pot for yours tomorrow night,” Sanders suggested.
    Florence rapped his shoulder smartly with her fan. They’d been friends since childhood, since the Sanders barony abutted the Seabrooke estate, so she wasn’t so much affronted as annoyed with him.
    “Can’t blame a man for trying,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. “I wouldn’t presume to speak for Edmondstone, but I guarantee you that I’d be most appreciative.”
    Florence tapped the side of her cheek with the tip of her fan, considering his words. “A judicious display of flesh might move Lord Edmondstone to more than stilted courtesy. The man is handsome as the devil, but honestly, his brand of wooing wouldn’t make a monk blush.”
    “You deserve so much more, my lady.” Lord Sanders took her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips in what appeared to be a perfectly courtly kiss. Instead he flicked the tip of his tongue between her fore and middle fingers, sending a hot flush coursing up her arm. “You deserve a bit of wickedness.”
    She knew she ought to pull her hand away, but his warm brown eyes dared her not to. He’d teased her before while she negotiated the shoals of her London Season, but somehow, this didn’t feel the same. This time, he was serious. Well, she could be, too.
    “What I deserve is a proposal of marriage from the right man.” She’d had plenty of offers, but her father had encouraged her to choose with her eyes instead of measuring men by their purses or titles. The duke wanted the prettiest, most well-favored grandchildren in the realm. Florence was determined to give him a son-in-law capable of breeding them. Lord Edmondstone was by far the most comely man she’d ever met.
    “Say no more. I volunteer to submit to leg-shackles for life for your sake,” Sanders offered, his perfectly ordinary face sagging in a parody of woe.
    “Oh, you!” She swatted him again. “We wouldn’t suit and you know it.”
    “Why not me? I’ve an old and revered title, complete with an old and crumbling estate to match,” he said. “I frankly adore you and don’t understand why you haven’t succumbed to my charms already.”
    He took a long sip of his punch and let his gaze roam around the room, which gave her reason to discount his words.
    “Perhaps you’re trying too hard,” she said wryly, then just to be contrary, she brushed the handle of her fan across her lips. If he were paying attention, he’d recognize the signal that suggested she wanted him to kiss her.
    It was wrong of her to flirt with him. Her father would never approve of Lord Sanders. The man was only an inch or two taller than she and the heels on his silver-buckled shoes were as high as her own. He always wore a beautiful full-bottom wig, but the forehead was high enough to make her wonder if he shaved his head under it or if his own hairline was receding.
    His nose was too big for the rest of his face and his lips were thin enough to be invisible. The only features that commended him were his speaking eyes. Along with the wit which sparked in their brown depths with flashes of droll brilliance.
    I’d never be bored with Sanders, Florence realized. She’d also never give birth to the perfect grandchildren her father was so insistent upon if she wed the baron. But I’d wager they’d have lovely eyes.
    * * *
    Tristan couldn’t wait for this minuet to be over.
    He still didn’t know what had possessed him to make sure his name appeared on Delphinia Preston’s dance card. He tried to convince himself that he was simply making sure the fire he felt when he touched her in the silk tent