Lord Savage Read Online Free

would have stumbled. His voice dropped a fraction
     lower, his words more confidential and meant for my ears alone. “As a married woman,
     Mrs. Hart, you must surely have recognized the nature of those ‘curious sounds.’ If
     you were drawn to them, then they must have intrigued you, and made you wish to see
     more. Perhaps you even imagined yourself making those same curious noises, unable
     to stop, nor wanting to.”
    His audacity stunned me, as did the frankness with which he spoke of such matters.
     I had wished for adventure, true, but I had not expected him—or any gentleman here
     tonight—to speak so directly to me, without the genteel gloss of a witty double meaning.
    “I am sorry, my lord,” I said, striving to draw the conversation back into my control,
     “but I do not believe that is a suitable topic for this company, in this house.”
    He laughed softly, a deep, rumbling sound in his chest that I found appallingly seductive.
    “I can assure you, Mrs. Hart,” he said, “that this house has been a haven to far,
     far less suitable pastimes, performed by this same company, than what you witnessed
     earlier.”
    “Does your assurance come from experience, my lord?” I said defensively. “Was that
     scene in the garden only one of many in your past?”
    “Is that what you imagine of me, Mrs. Hart? Is your fervid mind envisioning such a
     scene even now?”
    Sharply I drew in my breath, for in fact I was imagining exactly that. Was I truly
     so—so transparent? He was toying with me, teasing me, twisting my words around for
     my own entertainment, and I did not like it.
    “You flatter yourself, my lord,” I said, “if you believe that I would devote my thoughts
     so exclusively to your—your dalliances.”
    “‘Dalliances,’” he repeated, faintly mocking. “I do not dally, Mrs. Hart. As our acquaintance
     grows, you’ll discover that I am far more purposeful than that.”
    “Indeed, my lord.” I swallowed, and licked my lips, which had suddenly grown dry.
     “But only if I cared sufficiently to make such findings.”
    He raised a single dark brow. “What a singular show of spirit, Mrs. Hart.”
    If having spirit meant I must challenge him, I’d do so. “I’m American, my lord. Spirit
     has been bred into me.”
    “I have met a good many American women, Mrs. Hart,” he said, “and none of them have
     possessed what you call spirit to the degree that you appear to do. You are, in fact, not like any of them at all.”
    I couldn’t tell if this was intended as a compliment or not. “You are exceptionally
     bold in your judgment of me, my lord, given that our entire acquaintance has been
     the length of this waltz.”
    “Not at all, Mrs. Hart,” he said easily, ignoring the rebuff in my words. “Judgments,
     true judgments, can be made in an instant. I can see that you are not like the other
     American women, nor are you like the English ladies languishing in little groups about
     this room. You are not afraid of being alone. You are independent, a renegade, and
     you answer only to yourself. Is that not so?”
    I caught my breath again, stunned that he had in fact assessed me with such accuracy.
     I’d never been a girl surrounded by a pack of giggling friends, and because of my
     solitary upbringing, I’d accepted my lack of close acquaintance, even embraced it
     as I’d grown older. Yet how had he guessed?
    “You are silent, Mrs. Hart,” he continued when I didn’t answer. “You believe I have
     insulted you.”
    “No, my lord,” I said, striving to recover. “Although to be called a recreant is hardly
     flattering to a lady.”
    “I called you a renegade, Mrs. Hart,” he said. “A recreant acts from craven cowardice,
     but a renegade has made a conscious choice to exist beyond convention and expectations.”
    “I see I must choose my words with more care, my lord,” I said, deftly avoiding admitting
     how correct his estimation had been. “You speak with a