Wanton Angel (Blackthorne Trilogy) Read Free Page B

boy,” Kenyon replied gravely.
           When Beth saw him walking across the floor she nearly sank to her knees with embarrassment. He was heading directly toward her! Would he remember their awful encounter from last week? How could he not? Of course, she had looked much different in her painting togs. She was suddenly grateful for the way Mama had insisted on tricking her out for this affair.
           “Beth, you look ready to pick up your skirts and run,” Madelyne said, trying to discern the reason for her daughter's panic. Then she saw him, quite the handsomest young man in the room, moving in their direction along with Roarke Kenyon. Beaming, she looked back at Beth. “Oh, do try to smile, dear. I daresay he won't bite you.”
           When they approached the ladies, Roarke introduced his companion as Derrick Jenkins, late of Manchester, England. Elizabeth Blackthorne curtsied to him rather stiffly. The awkwardness of her normally graceful daughter was not lost on Madelyne. Derrick bowed with an affected flourish that he'd found most American females adored. Before Miss Blackthorne could do more than smile wood-enly, Quint motioned to his wife and political ally Kenyon from across the room. They made their excuses to the two young people and went to join him.
           “You look far better without paint on your nose,” he teased when they were alone. “In fact, I wouldn't have recognized you if Kenyon hadn't mentioned that you dabbled at painting.”
           Her eyebrows arched sharply and her wide green eyes narrowed imperceptibly, a sure sign of danger, as her brothers could have warned him. “Dabbled?” she echoed sweetly.
           “His word, not mine, but you must confess it is rather unusual for a lady of your background to go about the countryside in the company of a chicken thief.” His grin was infectious.
           She was not certain whether she should be amused or incensed. If only he weren't so damnably good-looking. He quite unsettled her. She decided incensed was safer. “I'm sure I prefer the company of an honest thief to that of a condescending Englishman,” she said with frosty dismissal, turning away from his penetrating blue eyes before she drowned in their depths.
           “Just because our countries may one day be at war does not mean that we need be,” he said. “Besides, I'm given to understand that you have English relatives on both sides of the Atlantic.”
           “Aunt Barbara is an American now and Cousin Alex's wife Joss will be too. They do not laugh at the idea of a woman wanting to be an artist.” Actually, having never met her new cousin, Beth had no idea how Joss felt.
           Elizabeth Blackthorne sounded so young and earnest in her righteous anger that he reconsidered his earlier impulse to use her as a source of information. There were many other older and wiser women on whom he could work his charms, women who knew far more about military and political matters than this backcountry miss. Magnanimously, he decided to let her go.
           “My dear Miss Blackthorne, I wish you every success as an artist, and please note that I am not laughing as I do so,” he replied with feigned boredom.
           “You are every bit as insufferable as Cousin Alex described the Earl of Suthington!”
           Having met Suthington, Derrick understood the magnitude of the insult better than she. As he watched her stalk away, a most peculiar sense of something lost squeezed his chest. The sudden pang was akin to how he had felt when his family disowned him.
     
     

 
     
    Chapter Two
     
     
    The Quay, Bay of Naples, Fall 1814
     
           Derrick Jamison stood on the deck of the brigantine Mayfair , surveying the sparkling aquamarine depths of the bay. Small fishing skiffs and sloops with their characteristically curved sails skimmed across the water, nets heavy with the morning catch. The high tenor