Rhyme and Reason Read Free Page B

hand. That breath became a soft sigh when an explosion of delight careened through her again. His finger stroked her palm, sending tingles along her skin. He drew her a half-step closer and bent toward her hand again. Instead of kissing her hand, he looked up at her and winked.
    Shocked, she pulled her hand away. She was completely dicked in the nob to let him treat her like one of his convenients. Raising her chin in her most imperious pose, she said, “I bid you a good evening, my lord.”
    He set his hat back on his head and, smiling, tipped it in her direction. “And I bid you good morning, Miss Talcott.”
    Emily had no chance to answer as he strode from the room. She decided that was a good thing, for she had bumbled everything else she had said in his hearing.

Chapter Two
    Damon Wentworth whistled a light tune as he climbed into his carriage. His coachee regarded him with bafflement, but Damon did not ease the man’s curiosity at his good spirits at this late hour. Talking about Miss Emily Talcott to his servants would be beneath reproach—even for him.
    Chuckling, he drew the door closed and slapped the roof. As the carriage was driven around the square and toward his own home on Grosvenor Square, he leaned back and smiled. The night had not been a waste of time, after all. He had been afraid it would be when he saw how Charles Talcott played and how often the man tilted the bottle to his glass.
    He closed his eyes, bringing forth the image of Miss Emily Talcott with ease. He had honed the skill of noting the details others might miss, for it served him well when he tried to gauge what others held in their hands as they sat at the board of green cloth. Just now, he had noticed how, while they sat in the parlor, Miss Talcott’s hands had been clasped so tightly her knuckles were white with anxiety. She clearly had expected that her father had lost heavily to him, and that fact disturbed her. The woman was more insightful than most he had met. At the same time, she was an enticing combination of sophisticated ennui and girlish naïveté.
    A smile tipped his lips as he recalled how her black hair had been as silken as her skin and how her blue eyes had sparked with sharp emotion when he had been bold enough to discover that. High cheekbones and an assertive chin would not label her pretty in some minds, but she had a face that suggested there was more to her than the simpering misses who tried to gain his attention when their chaperones were busy elsewhere.
    He chuckled again. Miss Emily Talcott had allowed neither his sullied reputation nor his request to speak to her alone in her parlor to unsettle her. She had not been consumed by a fit of giggles when he caught her gaze. All in all, she was a rare woman of uncommon composure.
    The carriage stopped, and he opened the door. The sunrise glittered off the stones on the front of his town-house and the windows marching in unvarying precision across its front. At the door, his butler stood, his mouth working as he struggled not to yawn.
    Damon did not try to hide his smile. Hillis had served in this household since both he and Damon were young, so Damon knew by the butler’s squared shoulders that Hillis was distressed about something. Not the late hour of Damon’s homecoming, surely for there had been many mornings that had found him at his club still enjoying the company of his fellows and the cards in front of them.
    Something struck his foot as he stepped out of the carriage. With a quick motion, he caught the article before it could fall onto the street. A hat! He tilted it, recognizing the silver band above its conservative brim. Talcott’s hat. The man had been so foxed, he had not noticed it was not on his head.
    Climbing the steps to his front door, Damon said, “Good morning, Hillis. You look as if your night was as sleepless as mine.”
    “Cut short, my lord, by the arrival of a messenger.” He held out a folded sheet of paper. “The lad said you were