The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae Read Free Page A

young, and not-so-young, ladies.”
    He looked down at her as if inwardly shaking his head. “As much as I find your candor refreshing, are you always this forthright?”
    â€œGenerally, yes. Creating unnecessary complications through overnice adherence to the social strictures has always struck me as a waste of time.”
    â€œIs that so? Then perhaps you’ll tell me—in all candor and without any overnice adherence to the social strictures—why you inveigled Curtis to introduce us.”
    She opened her eyes wide. “ You were hunting me .”
    He held her gaze. “So?”
    She’d expected him to deny it; the look in his eyes, an expression she associated with an intent and focused predator, made her breath tangle in her throat, but she evenly replied, “So now I’m hunting you.”
    â€œAh. I see. That must be some new twist in the customary matchmaking dance.” He glanced briefly around, then returned his gaze to her face. “Although I confess I haven’t noticed any other young ladies being quite so bold.”
    She arched her brows. “They’re not me.”
    â€œClearly.” He looked into her eyes for a moment more, then said, “So tell me about Angelica Cynster.”
    His voice had lowered; along with his changeable, mesmerizing eyes, it lured her on, as if reeling her in. She decided it wouldn’t hurt to let him think he was succeeding. “Anyone who knows me will tell you that I’m twenty-one going on twenty-five, and am commonly held to be the most confident, stubborn, and willful of all the Cynster girls, and none of us could be described as wilting flowers.”
    â€œYou sound like a handful.”
    She arched a challenging brow at him and didn’t deny it.
    The musicians launched into a second waltz. He hesitated, then said, “If you would like to dance, please don’t feel obliged—”
    â€œI don’t want to dance.” She glanced around. The attention of all those not waltzing was focused on the dance floor, on the couples now whirling. “Actually . . .” She looked up and caught his gaze. “I’m finding it rather warm in here. Perhaps we might stroll on the terrace and get some air.”
    He hesitated; again she got the impression that he was inwardly shaking his head at her, and not in an approving way. However . . . “If that’s what you wish, by all means.” Gracefully, he offered her his arm.
    She put her hand on his sleeve, felt steel beneath the fabric, and smiled delightedly, as much at herself as at him. Her pursuit of her hero was underway.
    His cane in his other hand, he very correctly escorted her to the open French doors that gave access to the terrace and the gardens beyond. Stepping over the threshold onto the terrace flags, she breathed in, savoring the near-balmy night. A wafting breeze caressed her nape, her throat.
    The Cavendish House gardens were old, the trees large and mature, their thick canopies shading the steps at either end of the long terrace and deepening the general darkness of the night. She looked around, noted several other couples strolling in the faint light of the quarter moon, and steered Debenham in the opposite direction.
    He noticed; although he obliged, when she glanced up, into his eyes, despite the shadows she sensed his disapproval, underscored by the set of his chiseled lips.
    She widened her eyes. “What?”
    â€œAre you always this . . . for want of a better term, forward?”
    She tried to look offended, but her lips wouldn’t oblige. Regardless of any disapproval, he’d fallen in with her suggestion; they were slowly strolling further down the terrace that ran the full length of the salon. “I realize that gentlemen like to lead, but I’m impatient by nature, and also direct. I want to get to know you better, and you want to get to know me, and that requires being able to