Leslie Lafoy Read Free Page A

considered it, the sun warmed and the land gently greened with the first promise of spring.
    Interesting. She didn’t have the slightest idea of what it meant. But since understanding didn’t have anything to do with accuracy or inevitability, she accepted that she would someday stand on the moors watching the passage of the seasons and remember this night. It didn’t seem to be an unhappy vision. If she were pressed to put an emotion to it, she’d have to say that it was something akin to contentment, a feeling that all was as it was supposed to be.
    Yes, interesting indeed. And since there was no point in speculating on what event or circumstances would take her into the moors, or even when that someday might be … Fiona put the vision away, stepped into Simone’s embrace, and focused her attention on living in the wonder and happiness of the present moment.
    *   *   *
    Ian guided Lady Baltrip along the garden path and away from the light and merriment spilling out the terrace doors. She laughed and chatted pleasantly at his side, the diamond brooch centered in her cleavage winking in the pale moonlight.
    She’d told him in the middle of their brief dance what her given name was. He’d repeated it to himself three times in the moments right afterward, determined to commit it to his memory so that he could murmur it appropriately while in the throes of passion.
    June? Anne? Or was she Sylvia? Damn. Bad form to call her by the wrong name. He sorted back through the recent memories of the evening. She’s been standing with the Duchess of Ryland. Her Grace’s given name was … Hell, he doubted that he’d ever heard it. Her Grace’s sister’s name was Fiona. Lady Fiona Turnbridge. That he did remember. Why, of all things, for that bit of information to be the stuff that stuck …
    It had been her eyes, he allowed. A stunning shade of green. Not pale, not flecked, not changeable as his own were. A brilliant, new grass green. Clear and bright and … keenly, sharply intelligent. In a mere second …
    Touched, his ass. That would be the last time he ever listened to Harry about anything. Lady Fiona wasn’t the least bit impaired, and as for looking through people as though they weren’t there … No. Lady Fiona looked into people and saw every shadow of their soul.
    In the first instant it was disconcerting. He would allow Harry that observation. But once you thought about it a bit, it wasn’t. Not at all. In fact, there was something rather deliciously dangerous about daring to—
    “Are we going to walk to Scotland this evening, Ian?”
    He blinked and focused his attention on the woman on his arm. Her eyes were dark, probably a pleasant shade of brown. Her hair was definitely red. And her smile was most certainly inviting.
    “I suppose we’ve come far enough for the sake of privacy and discretion,” he allowed with a smile of his own as he drew her to a most conveniently provided garden bench.
    She settled herself on it gracefully and then skimmed her gaze slowly down the length of his body. Ian cocked a brow and waited for her to finish her perusal, thinking that Lady Baltrip’s vision was every bit as focused as Lady Fiona’s, just not at all concerned with anything beyond the simple surface of matters, beyond the immediate possibilities of attaining a quick but thorough physical satisfaction.
    Which was fine with him, he told himself as she began to efficiently unbutton his trousers. Actually, sex with a beautiful, willing, just-met woman was his idea of the perfect mid-gala activity. Post-gala, too, if she was sufficiently good and genuinely disinterested in a more formal and permanent union.
    He closed his eyes as she freed his stiffened member. God, what was her name? She leaned forward and he shuddered with the pleasure of her bold and artful advance. It didn’t matter what her name was, he assured himself as he stepped closer for her ease. As long as he remembered that it wasn’t