At Least Once More Read Free

hateful words. “You bumbling oaf. You’re no son of mine. If it weren’t for the succession, I’d disown you. As it is, I refuse to let the title pass to some American nobody. Better it go to the son of a Welshman, even if he was a blacksmith.”
    He straightened. That man was long dead and buried, along with the insecure, little boy Gareth had been. “If you’d prefer to sit the set out…”
    Annabelle wrinkled her freckled nose and cleared her throat. “Forgive me, Your Grace. You must think me just another ill-mannered American.” She rested her gloved hand, the white cotton a stark contrast to the black superfine of his jacket, on his arm. Such dainty hands. How would they look wrapped around his shaft? The member in question twitched.
    “I generally don’t judge people based on their origins.” He wanted to kick himself when she stiffened. He hadn’t meant for the comment to sound so gruff, but his completely inappropriate thoughts had surprised him. She was an innocent miss and not for the likes of him. His father’s harsh words once again echoed in his head.
    “I must ask your forgiveness a second time, Your Grace.”
    The clipped words stoked his anger. “Please stop with the ‘Your Grace.’ I extend the same privilege to you as I did to Lady Minerva. Gareth, if you please, or Grey, if you insist on some formality.”
    Her hold on his arm tightened. No doubt she’d ask to return to Lady Minerva’s side. He sighed. This evening was not going as planned.
    In town for Parliament, he only went out in Society because it was at gatherings like these where the deals were brokered. He’d come tonight with the intention of seeking Markham’s support on a piece of legislation, but he’d made his appearance too early. So, he was forced to bide his time. Why he hadn’t sought the billiard room instead of lingering in the ballroom was beyond him. Then he’d seen William’s obvious happiness at being wed and some small part of him had whispered a need for the same.
    No matter that he’d long ago decided not to spread his tainted blood. If it weren’t for him, William would now be the Duke of Powis—not that the man who was his distant cousin thrice removed, or some such nonsense, cared one whit for titles. If they didn’t share a love of horseflesh and political reform, he doubted William would have given him two thoughts, and that would have been unfortunate, for he valued their friendship.
    “Grey—” Annabelle loosened her grip. A small frown pursed her mouth. She nibbled at her lower lip, which plumped invitingly, as if she’d recently had them wrapped around his stirring cock.
    His cravat was suddenly too tight. He did not need to be thinking of his friend’s sister—his own cousin, though thrice removed—in inviting terms, much less imagining her doing things only courtesans had ever performed on him!
    She canted her head to the side. “Gareth.”
    Warmth swirled in his chest. Surely that wasn’t satisfaction he felt at her use of his given name, at the way it whispered from her lips, low and inviting? Snap out of it, man! He wasn’t some love-stricken green boy, but a grown man of two and thirty years. And, it wasn’t as if she was a beauty, at least not by conventional standards. Her face was a little too long, her hair too brown, her skin too tanned.
    She smiled, and he lost all ability to breath.
    No, she wasn’t beautiful by conventional standards, but that smile, with those full lips, was seductive, alluring, and dared him to laugh with her. Over what, who knew, and who cared?
    “Yes, I do believe I prefer Gareth.” Intimacy laced her voice, and her eyes twinkled, as if she had a secret to share.
    He dipped his head closer, close enough to be teased by the fresh scent of spring.
    “Gareth, I must confess I have no longing to sit the set out. Indeed I look forward to a turn around the dance floor with a man whose eyes aren’t even with my chin.”
    He dropped his gaze. Any