Lust Read Free Page B

me by the opposite sex.”
    â€œWell, then,” Mercy said cheerily, changing the course of the conversation. “Shall we stop at the baker’s and have a Bakewell tart? I will buy them, for I have brought my pin money.”
    Chastity glanced at her youngest sister. Mercy . The virtue of kindness, trying her utmost to make her sistersthe best of friends, not to mention lessening the sting of Baron Graham’s painful assessment of Chastity.
    â€œCome,” Mercy pleaded, “we shall all have a little sweet for the walk home.”
    â€œWe really shouldn’t dally,” Chastity replied. “Although, a quick stop for a tart to eat on the way wouldn’t be a bother, would it?”
    Prudence, the second eldest, who was always restrained and temperate, declined. “None for me, thank you. But naturally the three of you may indulge.”
    Chastity nodded in understanding before fixing her gaze on her three sisters. They were paragons. Everyone thought them utterly perfect. Yet each of them knew of the other’s desire to be anything but what they were. On the outside, they were ethereal models of the womanly ideal. Inside, they were empty vessels, trapped by the virtues they were born to embrace and embody.
    â€œWell, come along, then,” Mercy said as she held her bonnet in place with her hand as a stiff wind gusted up, threatening to take it from her flaxen curls. “My mouth is positively watering at the thought of a tart.”
    Within minutes they were in the cramped little baker’s, inhaling the fresh aroma of pastry and almonds and sweet-cream icing. “Oh, heavenly,” Chastity found herself murmuring. Her stomach rumbled in response to the scents. Or perhaps, she thought, glancing over her shoulder at Prue, who waited by the door, it was her sister’s long-denied belly she heard. She could see the hunger in Prue’s eyes, and Chastity tilted her head, indicating the wooden shelf where countless treats awaited them.Typical of Prudence, she pinched her lips and shook her head. Denial was all Prue knew.
    â€œThere,” Mercy announced, passing them each a tart as they stood outside the baker’s. She had bought one for Prue, but she refused it, so Mercy handed the tart to a small child who stood beside her mother, who was busy selling irises from a wicker basket.
    â€œOh, thank you, luv,” the woman said gratefully as her daughter reached for the tart and shoved it hungrily into her mouth.
    â€œâ€™Tis no trouble. The eve of May Day,” Mercy replied, “is not complete without a Bakewell tart.”
    As Chastity smiled at the little girl, her gaze caught something radiant in the middle of the road. A man riding a pure white horse that was adorned with a glimmering gold bridle.
    He was handsome, more striking than any man she had ever seen. He was tall and fair-haired, and his clothes appeared as though they were spun of gold gossamer threads. His tailoring was richly embroidered, embellished with layers of lace and cloth-covered buttons. He did not resemble a puffed-up peacock like so many gentlemen did in the current fashion. He was every inch a man, a feat nearly impossible to achieve considering his elaborately embroidered frock coat and waistcoat.
    As his white horse trotted elegantly by, his eyes caught Chastity’s stare. The stranger inclined his head and moved along, forcing Chastity’s gaze to follow him as he made his way through the carts and carriages that littered the high street.
    Who was he? she wondered, still entranced by the stranger. He didn’t live in the village. She would have seen him before now. Heavens, all the village women would have been talking about him. She would have seen him at the assembly rooms, or at a tea or luncheon or something .
    As he made his way up the steep incline of the road, he glanced back at her once more over his shoulder. He did not stare at her like other men did, with a