And Then Comes Marriage Read Free

proprieties just this once? I am Worthington.”
    Miranda smiled, completely charmed. Let us pretend that one never happened. He meant to start over indeed, for those were the very words he used the day they had met!
    On that afternoon a month ago, she’d been crossing a busy street in Mayfair and had caught her heel between two cobbles. Tildy, toting packages, had fallen a little behind.
    Miranda knew she’d been silly to lose sight of the oncoming traffic in her worry over a shoe, but thankfully a handsome man—Mr. Worthington!—had simply stepped into the street, wrapped an arm about her waist, and plucked her from danger—and the offending shoe!
    Now, just as she had then, Miranda dipped a curtsy and said, “Gallantry is its own reward, sir, but your actions were most heroic. I might allow that the act of introducing yourself—while shocking and forward of you!—is a just and proper reward for such valor.”
    When she straightened, she found her own reward in the warmth of his smile. Goodness, she’d never seen his eyes gleam so at her! Previously warm and friendly, like spring sun on green grass, his eyes now promised heat and light and shadow and all manner of wickedly playful possibilities!
    It must be that he’d been affected by their brief intimacy on the cobbles as well!
    Miranda’s pulse became more rapid. She loved the spring sun but the flame of a midsummer bonfire might warm one twice as well, might it not? Fighting her own timidity, she gazed right back and continued the game. “I am Mrs. Gideon Talbot, Mr. Worthington. However, my hero may address me as Miranda.”
    Would he say it again? Would he say the words that had made a fiercely circumspect widow, the very model of propriety, begin to remember that she was a flesh-and-blood woman as well?
    His lips curled up at the corners. “Miranda, lovely daughter of Prospero. ‘O you, / So perfect and so peerless, are created / Of every creature’s best!’”
    Miranda’s jaw dropped slightly. Oh my.
    The first time, he had smiled teasingly and recited, “‘The very instant that I saw you, did / My heart fly to your service.’” She’d been flattered, impressed by his Shakespeare-at-the-ready compliment, and charmed by his relaxed impertinence.
    Now, with his leaf green eyes gleaming wicked promise and his lean, broad-shouldered form leaning close over hers, she found herself thrilled by the breathtaking notion of being seen as “perfect and peerless” by such a man!
    She struggled for a light laugh. “You’ve studied up on your Tempest ! Very good! But are you my Ferdinand or simply a Caliban?” She pretended arch indifference. “That remains to be seen, does it not?”
    Cas stared down at the pretty widow, perplexed. She ought to be weak-kneed and simpering by now, not teasing him so pitilessly. He’d been quite proud of yanking that handy Miranda quote out of his memory.
    Of course, his father, Archimedes Worthington, Shakespeare scholar, had strolled around the house quoting that bloody play for months. There was nothing so likely to drive a fellow off Shakespeare as an elderly man wandering the house at midnight in his baggy drawers stentoriously spouting Ferdinand’s lines from The Tempest !
    Mr. Castor Worthington, confirmed bachelor, appreciator of all things feminine, stepped back to take a better look at the delightfully soft object of his sudden collision.
    She seemed rather poised. Was this the same woman he’d just tackled and flung onto the cobbles—after very nearly exploding her?
    She looked a mess, actually. Her fine straw bonnet, dyed to match her spencer, was a smeary ruin, as was the spencer. Beneath the short jacket, her gown was sullied with more alley slime, especially about the er … arse.
    The damp fabric clung to her flesh, and Cas took a moment to appreciate the delightful shape revealed beneath it. Then he firmly returned his gaze to her face to find her assessing him expectantly.
    Hmm. His smile warmed.