Losing Angeline: London Calling Book Two Read Free Page A

she never failed to earn a circle of admirers. They lingered for her conversation, though, as she had a charming wit that won friends wherever she went.  
    They’d moved freely amongst Savannah’s social set for years now. But since Devon was born, they’d scaled back as Angeline loathed to leave her with strangers and was reluctant to take advantage of their trusted nanny or Patrick and Alice.
    He reminded her, frequently, that their daughter was bright and outgoing; she needed social stimulation. Not one to live in fear, he tried to balance his natural optimism with Angeline’s inclination for overprotectiveness.  
    He moved to link her arm with his. Bringing her hand to his lips, he admired the fine bones before pressing a kiss to the back of her hand in an unconsciously gallant gesture. As usual, she blushed, even though she should be well used to chivalry as he exercised it often. He loved to spoil her, coddle her a bit, even knowing her fragility hid a spine of steel. Fundamentally, it was her contradictions that kept him spellbound. After years of marriage and the gift of their beautiful daughter, she still had the power to bring him to his knees.
    She always would.
    As they walked into the warm lobby of the old hotel, pride seized him as people stopped to stare. It was only for a second; people in the South prided themselves on social etiquette and never openly gaped. But he caught the looks as other men slyly eyed his wife as she gracefully crossed the warmly burnished pine floors to approach the elevators.
    They came here occasionally, enjoying the intimate setting with its colonial feel. The hotel was a showcase of old and new — heart of pine floors, wood paneled rooms and brick walls that couldn’t decide whether they were aged to chocolate brown or a weathered gray. Warm lighting accented the spaces, making certain it was dark enough for romance, but still bright enough for its top-shelf clientele to be seen. Silk jacquard drapes brushed the floors and scattered leather seating was offset with button-tucked velvet chairs in rich jewel tones.  
    Angeline enjoyed the place for its effortless, chic, and timeless elegance. John admired it for that as well, but also because the colors, setting, and light were a perfect complement to her coloring. Dark chestnut hair floated in loose waves down her back. It showcased her pale, porcelain complexion and perfectly arched dark brows over tawny gold eyes. Her full, peachy pink lips naturally curved in a smile.  
    And her legs. Her long, glorious, show-stopping legs.
    She’d been a student of ballet growing up, she once told him. She’d stopped when she grew too tall, but she retained the leanness of a dancer, and she carried herself with regal poise and unfailing grace. She would inevitably turn heads, he thought. When they were eighty, he had little doubt he’d still be watching her draw other men’s admiring glances.
    He was also certain he’d be among them.
    As he pressed the button to take them to the rooftop terrace where the event was being held, he raised two fingers to ward off an approaching couple.  
    “Sorry, we’re taking this one.”
    Angeline whipped her head around, mouth opened in shock as the other two people stepped back to indicate their acceptance of his statement.
    “John,” she whispered. “Why did you do that?”
    “Because I’m going to ravish you as soon as I get you in this elevator. As I recall, it’s known for a slow trip to the top.” He put a finger under her chin, tipping it up to close her mouth. “You don’t want observers, do you?”
    Warmth stole into her cheeks. “You are incorrigible, John Sinclair.”
    “I know.” They stepped into the paneled lift with its amber and russet marble flooring. Turning, Angeline waved half-heartedly at the other couple, smiling ruefully. Before the doors slid closed, the unknown pair caught a split second of seeing John spin Angeline into a heated embrace.
    Several long moments