I Thee Wed Read Free

day, Sir Geoffrey would not approve of her mussed, floured, steamed, and spattered state!
    She put on a burst of speed. If she was in luck, the new resident of Blayne House had not yet arrived, and she could dash up the stairs to change before—
    â€œAh, Mr. Worthington! At last!”
    Francesca skidded to a stop just as she entered the foyer, narrowly avoiding running directly into Judith, her cousin.
Blast it!
    And of course, the occupants of Blayne House were all present and accounted for. Sir Geoffrey was stepping forward to greet the newcomer. Francesca winced when she saw that her uncle wore the Coat.
    She’d lived in Blayne House long enough to recognize Sir Geoffrey’s favorite surcoat, a fitted thing of dark blue wool, trimmed in gold thread, with some sort of family emblem stitched elaborately upon the back—which family she could not imagine, for she knew perfectly well that her father’s lineage was not especially distinguished in history. Like her, Sir Geoffrey was descended from a long line of scholars and professors with the occasional minor explorer or military officer. Then again, she couldn’t really say, for Sir Geoffrey and Papa were only half brothers.
    Whatever the source, the Coat meant that Sir Geoffrey considered the arrival of Mr. Orion Worthington to be an Occasion. With horror, Francesca realized that her cousin appeared entirely prepared for an Occasion.
    The statuesque, highly ornamental Judith was always perfectly attired for whatever she did, usually without a single golden hair out of place, and always with her serene expression intact upon her lovely face. Judith would look tranquil in a hurricane, her ivory brow unwrinkled even if she were pursued by dragons!
    Francesca brushed furtively at her skirts and then realized that she still wore the sackcloth apron she’d donned this morning. She stripped it off quickly, hiding behind the thankfully tall Judith to do so. The stubborn strings would not untie, so she resorted to pulling it over her head.
    The knotted strings caught on her hair, which took advantage of the situation to tumble down around her shoulders. Francesca had an adversarial relationship with her hair. Forsome time now, she had suspected that perhaps her hair was winning.
    There was little she could do about it now. Sir Geoffrey would find fault no matter how she appeared, so she straightened, pasted a pleasant expression upon her face, and hoped that Mr. Orion Worthington would at least be a lively addition to this gracious but incredibly boring house.
    Going up on tiptoes, Francesca peeked over Judith’s shoulder for a preemptive glimpse.
    Che bello!
    Mr. Worthington was what Nonna Laura would call “a superior specimen.” Francesca tended more toward expressive language. The words “chiseled” and “striking” and even “splendid” drifted through her mind as she stared slack-jawed in wonder.
    He was tall, dark, and
magnifico
. With dark brown hair, deep blue eyes, broad shoulders, and narrow hips, he was dressed like a gentleman in somber black. A dark sapphire silk waistcoat was the only touch of color.
    He didn’t look like a scientist. He didn’t even quite look like a gentleman! To Francesca, underneath his socially suitable clothing and demeanor, the man before her fairly vibrated with potent male power barely held in check. He looked like a wolf in a sheep meadow, holding very still in the hopes that he would go unnoticed.
    Francesca had expected someone bookish, mushroom-pale, and possibly stoop-shouldered, like so many of Sir Geoffrey’s colleagues, but of course, younger. Mr. Worthington looked as though he might crack a book, but only after a stimulating gallop through the woods, where he would bring down a buck with a single shot and carry it home on his shoulders.
    Wipe your chin, Chessa
.
    She waited breathlessly for him to smile. If he smiled, or made a clever jest, or even showed the