My Lady, My Lord Read Free Page B

are not happy, Papa,” she persisted. “Please. I do not wish to pry. Only to see you content again.”
    He clasped her fingers. “I am content knowing that you are.”
    She frowned. “But enjoying my contentedness is not equal to experiencing your own.”
    “For a parent it is.”
    Corinna retired to her room, sinking into her bed in satisfied exhaustion. She didn’t even allow herself a moment to think of how horrid it would be if she encountered the Earl of Chance tomorrow. Perhaps providence would bless her; before tomorrow dawned, he might fall into a hole and disappear.
    A woman could hope.
    ~o0o~
    The next morning Corinna’s maid buttoned her into a black silk gown with silver pinstripes. She had adopted the style while traveling with her uncle and aunt abroad. Pretending to be a widow had allowed her privileges a maiden could not enjoy, and her uncle and aunt had gone along with the ruse. When she returned to England, she continued the habit during the year of mourning for her mother.
    Now she had all her gowns made in the latest styles and fashions, but every one of them in black. It suited her role as a salon hostess, serious about her interests. And since her chestnut hair and hazel eyes were hardly de rigueur, the severe dress added to her unique style.
    She set out on errands early, visiting the shops before paying morning calls. At her friends’ homes she enjoyed stimulating conversation: at one—politics; another—oil painting; and at the last—Lord Byron’s latest creation. By the time she arrived at the museum, her mind sizzled with inspiration. She knew precisely the luminaries she would invite to her next soirée in a month. She could hardly wait to make preparations.
    She stepped into the broad, high-ceilinged exhibition hall and her excitement disintegrated. Several yards away, the Earl of Chance stood beside his mother. As usual, his dress was fittingly subdued yet carelessly casual: sapphire blue coat, snug-fitted as fashion dictated, and buff trousers. Also as usual, an odiously devilish glint lit his eyes.
    His latest doxy hung on his arm. Apparently the Baroness of Weston had not cheated on her husband until after he took to his bed permanently with gout, which, Corinna supposed, made her one of the more respectable females of Ian Chance’s acquaintance. But what on earth was the ninny doing here unless it was to impress Lady Chance?
    Corinna rolled her gaze away and slipped behind a group of guests studying a bust of Artemis. When a passing footman offered champagne, she grasped the glass and swallowed the contents in a mouthful.
    Murmurs of interest and feet scuffling on the wooden floor attended visitors as they moved from one objet d’art to another. The familiar sounds and the bubbly drink softened Corinna’s fidgets. She circled the exhibition chamber, greeting friends and enjoying their remarks about the statuary, which were exceptional examples of the Classical Period carved from smooth white marble. One table-top-sized rendering of Aphrodite had been wrought from a single block of creamy alabaster.
    Corinna stared at the supple creation. The goddess’s graceful arms, shapely hips, and legs draped with a sheer suggestion of fabric, her hair flowing down her back and across her shoulders and over her rounded buttocks, suggested movement, fluid and sensuous. Appropriate for the Goddess of Love.
    But something beyond that drew Corinna closer. The statue seemed to glow from within, a golden hue suffusing its curvaceous surface as though from hidden fire. In contrast, the goddess’s almond-shaped eyes seemed disappointingly hard.
    “Envious?” A voice like fire-warmed brandy on a winter night came just behind Corinna’s shoulder. She pivoted and met the Earl of Chance’s gaze. As usual, laughter colored his clear blue eyes. Also as usual, that laughter mocked.

Chapter Three
    T HE HAIR AT THE BACK OF CORINNA’S neck bristled. She turned her shoulder to him. “Why don’t you