Pretty Persuasion Read Free Page A

strong jaw, wide forehead, intelligent olive-green eyes. And that cleft chin—his most striking feature. She had always found him handsome, but her awareness of him was not childish admiration anymore. It was pure sensation—dizzying, soul-stirring sensation—and the shame of it burned her cheeks.
    But the weakness she felt in his presence dimmed as she absorbed the full blow of his cold and humorless eyes, of his pinched lips, and of a regard that, if not entirely foreign to her, sufficed to tighten muscles in indignation rather than anxiety. He was a stranger, despite the pounding of her heart that said otherwise, and ought to be treated as such.
    "How do you do, Lord Sheffield?" she said in a tone she hoped sounded as politely aloof as she intended.
    Their gazes locked, and his narrowed. "Well enough, all things considered. Though I'd probably feel a vast deal better if my affianced wife were not conducting secret assignations with another man."
    Blast it all. He must have seen Phillip leave. She had three options: outrage, indifference, or stupidity. She settled on a compromise. "Oh, dear. How disconcerting." She gave a dramatic sigh and pursed her mouth to complete the effect. "I recommend you disassociate yourself from her. No one would blame you, under the circumstances."
    He crossed his arms. "I would, but I have no wish to cause a scandal."
    "I see." She pretended to ponder the matter. "Then you ought to allow her the privilege of releasing you from your promise."
    "What if she refuses?"
    Amusement at such an unlikely notion caught her off guard, and she released a snort of laughter. She stepped up and put her hand on his arm. "Let me set your mind at ease, Lord Sheffield; I have every confidence she will let you go without objection."
    Touching him had been a mistake, yet now that she had, she couldn't seem to let go. His coat-clad arm, slender but still so thick with muscles she would scarcely be able to span it with her hands, felt both comforting and unnerving, like clinging to the mast of a sinking boat.
    It was time to abandon ship.
    "I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you have returned home safely. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must return to the party." She turned and started away from him, but he grabbed her arm above the elbow and hauled her back.
    "Not so fast, Georgie. Before you go, you shall tell me who your Phillip is and what you mean by meeting him alone in this manner."
    Georgie froze and gaped. He knew Phillip by name. How? Had he spied on them? Oh, he
had
. Her breath rushed out in a huff. Who was this man? The old Robert would never have stooped so low as to eavesdrop. But it appeared that the new Robert, Lord Sheffield, would. The rude, unprincipled rat.
    Yet for all that she hated his prying, there was guilt-ridden satisfaction in the knowledge that he cared. That he might even be jealous. It was a petty, childish sentiment that she ought to rise above.
    He drew her closer. "What is the matter with your lover that he can't court you in public? Is he that unsuitable?"
    For once, she appreciated her own stature; he might have intimidated her if they didn't nearly stand nose to nose. He tightened his grip on her arm, bringing to attention the indignity of her position. "Let go," she commanded, pouring frost into each syllable. "You're hurting me."
    He wasn't, but he apparently didn't know that, since he released her as if stung. For a moment, he didn't seem to know what to do with his hand—until he pointed an accusing finger at her, a mere hair's breadth from her nose. "Never mind explaining what you were doing. I have a fairly good notion of it already. You had better give me a good reason why I should not go straight to your father to apprise him of the situation."
    Georgie's vision blurred. Curse him! She clamped down so hard on her first, violent response that a sharp stab of pain spread through her jaw. What right had he to barge into her life, to interfere, to threaten her