Alissa Baxter Read Free Page A

dear girl, I am quite determined to find you a most eligible husband...”
    Alexandra blotted the unpleasant memory of her grandmother’s letter from her mind as she felt a hard tug at the end of the fishing line. She battled for some few minutes with her old enemy and had nearly conquered him when a loud shout nearby startled her, and caused her to lose her footing and topple headlong from the tree-trunk on which she was standing into the icy depths of the stream. She came up sputtering and fuming. Wiping a few wet copper tendrils away from her face, Alexandra saw a pair of shiny brown leather boots directly in her line of vision. Raising her eyes she took in the well-cut buff coloured breeches, the startlingly white shirt and well tied cravat of the gentleman standing in front of her, before her eyes came to rest on the face of Robert Chanderly. He looked exceedingly irate.
    “What are you doing trespassing on my land, and fishing in this stream?” he demanded in an icy voice. “I have just stocked this stream with trout of the finest quality and now you are disturbing them.”
    Alexandra, impeded by her wet skirts, managed to climb rather inelegantly out of the water. When she eventually stood on the bank of the stream, she declared, “Sir, I am in no way trespassing on this land.”
    Mr Chanderly raised his brows. “Are you not?”
    Alexandra lifted her chin. “No, I am not! Sir George Durbridge, himself, gave me permission to fish in this stream. A distant cousin of Sir George’s inherited Durbridge Hall when he passed away, but he has not come to take possession of the estate, so I see no reason why I should not continue to fish here.” Alexandra looked challengingly at him. “I would like to know, sir, on what authority you address me in such terms.”
    Mr Chanderly studied her for a long moment. Eventually, he drawled, “My dear girl, the authority on which I speak is based on the fact that I happen to be the “distant cousin” you mentioned, and that I now own this estate.”
    Alexandra tossed her head. “Well, Mr Chanderly, you took long enough in getting here! Sir George died all of six months ago. And, although I admit that I am trespassing on your lands, you had no right to sneak up on me and shout at me in that appallingly uncivil manner. Due to you I have been forced to have an unseasonal swim, and I’ve lost the fish which has been eluding me these many months past. Really, sir, it was too bad of you!”
    Mr Chanderly silently contemplated the girl in front of him, his eyes travelling over the old blue dimity gown which Alexandra always wore when she went fishing. It was in the style of another era, low waisted with full skirts. Alexandra usually wore it when she went fishing because it was comfortable and loosely fitted, but now the wet cloth clung revealingly to her frame, starkly outlining her figure. He raised his brows and finally said, “I realise that it is now the trend for ladies of the more daring set to dampen their skirts in order to show off their figures, Miss Grantham, but you seem to have taken this fashion to the extreme.”
    Alexandra felt the colour rush to her cheeks. “Sir, you go beyond the bounds off what is seemly! A — a — gentleman would not comment on...” She came to a halt, averting her eyes from him.
    “A gentleman would not comment on the fact that your gown is clinging to your form?” Mr Chanderly said helpfully, his eyes glinting in a most disturbing way for Alexandra’s peace of mind.
    “Precisely,” she said pointedly, and turned away from him, ostensibly to pick up her fallen fishing rod, but in reality to regain her shaky composure.
    “But then, my dear,” he said gently to her stiff back. “I am no gentleman.”
    Alexandra gasped at the audacity of the man and whirled around to stare at her tormentor. For the past week the image of this man had been haunting her, and she had found herself thinking about him at the most inopportune moments. Now