To Tempt a Saint Read Free Page B

it took very little to bring one about. Cleo herself had received four proposals in her first season alone. And, unless she missed her guess, Miss Finsbury had angled assiduously to bring Sir Baritone to the sticking point. Cleo leaned a bit more to the right toward the crack above the panel’s hinge. A quick peek would give her a better idea of the two parties.
    “Miss Finsbury, I am prepared to offer you a comfortable home, freedom . . .”
    There was a pause Farmer Davies could drive his hay wagon through. Why couldn’t the poor man get on with it? Was he hopelessly shy? And why did he insist on repeating his beloved’s name? Cleo adjusted her position slightly.
    “. . . And children, should you desire them.”
    Oh my . Would poor Miss Finsbury have to lead him to her bed? Cleo had a feeling the girl was hardly expiring from strong emotion, unless it was frustration with the pace of the gentleman’s proposal. Really, did men never read novels? Did they have no idea how to proceed?
    Cleo let herself lean that final fraction more, so that one eye looked out on a thin slice of the two people in the center of the carpet. The main object in view was the gentleman’s back, the powerful back of a tall, athletic man. He wore a dark blue coat and gray trousers perfectly tailored to his form. He did not look like a man who would feel unduly shy at the thought of the marriage bed. He had thick black hair and broad shoulders in that excessively fine coat—oh, how she would love to put Charlie in such a coat—a narrow waist and long, lean legs.
    The girl, whom Cleo could see rather better, was hardly a girl even with her mass of golden curls and pink cheeks, and entirely too many bows. She appeared to be a few years older than Cleo herself and confident of the charms of her bosom, the white expanse of which swelled appreciably above her bodice.
    “I don’t understand.”
    Of course you don’t, poor dear.
    “You will have a house in Mayfair, and you may visit your family and friends in Cheapside as often as you like. I will never reproach you for those connections.”
    Generous of you, Sir Baritone. Did you notice, you idiot, that she isn’t exactly swooning with delight?
    “And you need have no fear that I will be reckless with your dowry. I am no gambler, whatever you may have heard. The bulk of your money may be settled on any . . . progeny that ensue from our union.”
    Ensue! Does he imagine that children will turn up in the kitchen garden like turnips? Cleo watched the girl’s expression falter. Miss Finsbury’s eyes were big and round in her pink face.
    “You don’t love me?”
    Sir Baritone seemed not to hear. “All I ask is the immediate use of a portion of the thirty thousand pounds to invest in an enterprise that will change the face of London.”
    Cleo had to clap a hand over her mouth. Tears welled up in Miss Finsbury’s blue eyes and spilled over. It would have been tragic except that she looked as if she were playing a part in a bad farce.
    “Oh, I should never have come here. My papa said that you, sir, were a common fortune hunter and, and . . .” Miss Finsbury produced a lacy handkerchief from between her breasts and dabbed her eyes with it. “. . . Lord Candover’s . . . bastard .”
    The awful word in the cloying voice hung in the air. For a moment Cleo feared that she had actually gasped. Surely no sound had escaped her. She felt the change in Sir Baritone. Run , she urged the girl.
    “I could never marry such a man.” Miss Finsbury’s tremulous voice caught, and she dashed for the door.
    It banged shut behind her.
    Cleo held her breath. The very air in the room was motionless. No coal on the fire dared to crumble.
    Her nose itched and her stomach threatened to complain about having nothing to eat since before dawn, but she didn’t stir.
    As long as he didn’t turn, she was safe, but the crack compelled her to watch him standing with his back to her. The stillness of his person suggested