Louise Allen Read Online Free Page A

best a fallacy, at
worst, a danger.
    Lord Hardwicke and Soane straightened up from their litter of
plans, young Lord Royston blushed and the countess smiled. ‘Come in, my dear.
Philip, bring that chair over to the sofa for Cousin Isobel.’
    Giles watched as she walked farther into the room with an
assurance that confirmed him in his estimate of her age. ‘Thank you, Lord
Royston,’ she said as he brought her chair. ‘And you are Lady Lizzie?’
    ‘Yes, ma’am.’
    ‘I think I must be Cousin Isobel to you and Philip, for your
mama assures me we are all related. Will you take me and introduce me to your
sisters?’
    Giles let the lid of the display table drop for the last
fraction of an inch. Lady Isobel turned at the small, sharp sound. There was a
friendly smile on her lips and it stayed, congealed into ice, as her gaze passed
over him without the slightest sign of recognition.
    A most-accomplished cut direct. It seemed an extreme reaction.
He had sent her that chilling look in the hall out of sheer self-defence, as he
did with any over-bold young woman who seemed interested. Mostly they took the
hint and retreated blushing. This one seemed to have taken deep offence instead.
She turned back and went to take her seat, sinking on to it with trained
elegance.
    For the first time in a long time Giles felt a stirring of
interest in an utterly ineligible woman and it made him uneasy. That meeting of
eyes in the hallway had been astonishing. He had intended to warn off yet
another wide-eyed virgin and instead had found his snub returned with interest
and hostility. Why she was so forward, and why he was so intrigued, was a
mystery.
    The earl began to pour drinks for the ladies without troubling
to ring for a footman. Giles strolled over. ‘Allow me to assist, sir.’ He took
the two glasses of lemonade for the youngest girls, noting how tactfully their
father had used wine glasses to make them feel grown up. He came back and
fetched the ratafia for Lady Anne and Lady Isobel, leaving the earl to serve his
wife.
    ‘Lady Isobel.’ He proffered the glass, keeping hold of it so
that she had to respond to him.
    ‘Thank you.’ She glanced up fleetingly, but did not turn her
body towards him. ‘Would you be so good as to put it on that side table, Mr
Harker?’ He might, from her tone, have been a clumsy footman.
    Giles put the glass down, then spun a chair round and sat by
her side, quite deliberately rather too close, to see if he could provoke her
into some reaction. He was going to get to the bottom of this curiosity about
her, then he could safely ignore her. As good breeding demanded, Lady Isobel
shifted slightly on the tightly stuffed blue satin until he was presented with
her profile.
    Now she was rested from her journey she was much improved, he
thought, hiding a connoisseur’s assessment behind a bland social smile. Her
straight nose was no longer pink at the tip from cold; her hair, freed from its
bonnet, proved to be a glossy brown with a rebellious wave that was already
threatening her hairpins, and her figure in the fashionable gown was well
proportioned, if somewhat on the slender side for his taste.
    On the other hand her chin was decided, her dark brows strongly
marked and there was a tension about her face that suggested that she was braced
for something unpleasant. Her mouth looked as though it could set into a firm
line of disapproval; it was full and pink, but by no stretch of the imagination
did the words rosebud or bow come to mind. And she was quite definitely in at least her fifth
Season.
    Lady Isobel took up the glass, sipped and finally turned to him
with a lift of her lashes to reveal her intelligent dark grey eyes. ‘Well?’ she
murmured with a sweetness that did not deceive him for a second. ‘Have you
studied me sufficiently to place me in your catalogue of females, Mr Harker? One
well-bred spinster with brunette plumage, perhaps? Or do I not quite fit into a
category, so you must bring