Portrait Of A Lover Read Free

necessary,” she said, closing her book over her finger, which she used to keep her page.
    The man’s gaze met hers again, making her feel strangely giddy.
    “It’s been very suspenseful,” she said. “Have you read it?” She showed him the cover.
    “Can’t say that I have.” He closed his own book and set it on the seat beside him, then held out a hand. “May I?”
    Annabelle passed the book to him. She noted the distance between their knees…a foot, or perhaps two at most, which gave her a rather naughty little thrill.
    He flipped through her book—using his own finger to keep her page—then handed it back. “I must pick that one up. I like a good mystery.”
    Gracious, he was exquisite to look at, she thought. A famous sculptor couldn’t have created anything more beautiful. She’d never seen such magnetic eyes before. How old was he? Late twenties perhaps?
    Annabelle glanced down at his hand and noted he wore no wedding ring. A deep feminine element of her being rejoiced.
    She noted also that his hands were large and rough-looking. He was no idle gentleman, that was certain, and the idea of his male strength and ruggedness thrilled her beyond all.
    “Are you on your way somewhere, or returning home?” he asked, his voice deep, yet soft at the same time. Just the sound of it made her feel womanly.
    “We’re going to my great aunt’s seventy-fifth birthday party. She lives near Newcastle. And yourself?”
    “Business.” His eyes roamed over her face from the top of her head down to her chin, and it felt like a sensuous caress.
    She couldn’t deny that she secretly enjoyed it, which felt rather wicked and exciting.
    A short time later, Aunt Millicent was snoring like a dairy farmer, and Annabelle had relaxed significantly regarding her conversation with the gentleman seated across from her, even though she didn’t know him at all and they had not been properly introduced and he was very handsome and she was…Well…she was young and unmarried and painfully aware of his attractiveness.
    “What kind of business are you in?” she boldly asked.
    “I’m a clerk in a bank.”
    “You live in London, I presume?”
    Another bold question. Annabelle glanced prudently at her aunt. Still dead to the world, thank heavens.
    “Yes. My mother is currently residing with me, and it’s just the two of us. My father passed away a number of years ago.”
    “That is very good of you to care for your mother. She’s a lucky woman, to have you for a son.”
    “As is your mother, to have such a lovely daughter.” He glanced at Aunt Millicent, whose mouth was still hanging open. She twitched and slapped herself on the cheek.
    Annabelle grinned. “She’s my aunt, actually.”
    “Ah.”
    “I never knew my mother,” Annabelle blurted out, realizing too late that such a personal admission was even bolder than her earlier questions. She didn’t even know this man’s name. Yet something made her continue. Perhaps it was the transitory nature of the circumstances. She would probably never see him again after today.
    “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.
    “She died when I was not quite a year old,” Annabelle continued, “and my father passed away a year later. So I was adopted and raised by my mother’s closest friend. They had known each other since they were children.”
    He smiled warmly. “You were very fortunate to have such good people in your life.”
    “Indeed I was. My adoptive parents are gone now, but I still have my older brother Whitby—adoptive brother, that is—to care for me, and of course, Aunt Millicent, who has been living with us since I debuted in society.”
    He tilted his head to the side. “You were raised by the Earl of Whitby?”
    “Yes.”
    He stared at her for a long moment, appearing utterly staggered. Then his voice softened with an odd hint of resignation. “Well. It seems I am in esteemed company this morning.”
    He was looking at her differently. The fire in his eyes