Kathryn Caskie Read Free Page A

your life.”
    “Assuming she survives
this
disgrace,” Grace added.
    Eliza ignored her sister’s comment. Instead, she gave her aunt a noncommittal nod. “I am sure you are right. But since I possess few of the traits desirable in a wife, I seriously doubt any offers shall be made for my hand.”
    “Pish posh,” Aunt Letitia said. “You are fair and clever. The gentlemen will be queuing up to call upon you. You will see, Lizzy.” She gave a sidelong glance toward Viola. “For we have a plan, do we not?”
    Aunt Viola’s ancient eyes sparkled with excitement. “We do indeed, Sister.”
    A plan? Oh, no, they mean to use the rule book, don’t they?
Eliza shuddered at the thought. To her dismay, that slight movement made her nose itch. She was about to …
Oh God, not again. Not here. “A-achew
—”
    At the wet blast, Aunt Letitia looked Eliza full in the face, her eyes suddenly narrowed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Give me the feathers.” Snatching the white plumes away, Aunt Letitia shoved them at Viola, then pressed her own handkerchief into Eliza’s empty hand. “Do see to your nose, Lizzy. It’s as wet as a pup’s.”
    A moment later, their footman, liveried in pale Featherton lavender, stepped into the hall to signal the arrival of their carriage.
    With great exuberance, Aunt Letitia waved her arms to shoo the young women through the burgeoning crowd as though they were a pair of particularly dim-witted sheep.
    Eager to leave the scene of her blunder, Eliza started for the door, when she noticed Aunt Letitia’s handkerchief was missing. Whirling around, she spotted the crumpled bit of lace on the floor and dashed back, stooping to retrieve it.
    “Eliza, do hurry,” Grace called out from the doorway.
    “Coming.” Eliza straightened, then turned on her heel for the door, only to slam into a blue wall of some sort. Pain shot through her face.
    Oh, what now?
Opening her watering eyes, Eliza found her nose flattened against what appeared to be a brass button. She tried to see whom she’d run into, but was too close. Teetering on her heels, she pitched backward.
    Firm hands seized her shoulders, steadying her on her feet.
    Eliza inched her head upward. The button was attached to a silk gold-shot waistcoat, and the waistcoat to a very large man. Her gaze climbed higher still, until at last, she found herself looking straight into the gentleman’s face. She gulped.
    Pale eyes, glinting like quicksilver, stared down at Eliza. As she marveled at their sterling color, she saw in them the faint reflection of her own heart-shaped face and wide sherry-hued eyes.
Criminy.
It was like looking into two small mirrors.
    Thick waves of ebony hair, drawn back in an unfashionable queue, set off the man’s strong chiseled features.
    Her gaze slid down along his jawbone, over the blue beginnings of beard just beneath the surface of his faintly bronzed skin.
    His body, too, was well defined, suggesting years of physical activity.
    And he was tall, standing fully a head above any other gentleman in the hall. Eliza wondered how she’d missed seeing him earlier.
    She took a half step backward. Like her, this man did not belong at the palace. Oh, he was polished enough. His tailor had done well by him, supplying formal garb of the first quality. But somehow, his well-muscled form seemed ill-atease within its perfect seams.
    Nay, this was no refined gentleman who stood before her. There was a ruggedness about this man, a maleness she could very nearly taste.
    “I beg yer pardon, miss. Are ye all right?”
    The low burr of his voice, hinting of highland heather and distant moonlit moors, hummed through the whole of Eliza’s being, thrilling her so fully that she was rendered mute.
    He eased his palms from her shoulders, trailing them down the length of her arms to her gloved hands, where his fingers entwined her own for a scant moment before releasing them.
    A pleasurable tingling swept up her fingertips, heightening her