A Gamble on Love Read Online Free PDF

It was power he craved.
     
    The Pevensey Park ladies waited. They
shopped, waited, strolled through Hyde Park, and waited. Miss
Trevor’s digestion reached the point of revolt. She could hear
generations of noble ancestors hissing furiously in her ears.
    Late on their third day in London, the
summons came.
    And now the fateful moment was at hand. Miss
Trevor was armored in the best half-mourning gown a London modiste
had hastily remodeled to fit her petite client, whose golden
guineas took precedence over the reluctant payments offered by the
countess for whom the dress had been intended. Of lavender
lustring, with hem and matching spencer piped in black, it was far
more flattering than Miss Trevor’s previous mourning gowns. Her
lustrous dark hair was piled high on her head. Pearl drops with a
lavender cast depended from her ears. Leather slippers, dyed to
match her gown, adorned her small feet. She was, in short, as ready
as a young woman could be to interview a possible candidate for the
position of husband.
    Sir Gilbert, wishing to give Miss Trevor the
advantage, requested that she arrive at his office early, so she
might be on hand to greet the proposed suitor for her hand. Much as
if she were interviewing a prospective butler, sniffed Miss
Aldershot. But both ladies were forced to conclude that Sir
Gilbert’s suggestion had merit. Now, however, Relia was sorry. For
she had been twenty minutes early, and the miserable Cit was late.
Late to a meeting so vital to his future! Miss Aurelia Trevor could
not, in fact, imagine what had made her accept Sir Gilbert’s
suggestion. Marry a Cit? A man her friends and neighbors would
scorn. A vulgarian who actually had to earn his keep. A man of no
land, no family, a mediocre education . . .
    Good Lord, what if he truly
smelled of the shop? For how Lord Hanley could say the
country smelled when London was positively rank with odors, Aurelia completely failed to
understand. What if Thomas Lanning were one of those self-made men
who had pulled himself up out of the coal mines, the textile
factories, the merchant fleet, or a butcher
shop ? What if he wore a moleskin waistcoat
or—horrors!—what if his accent was simply impossible ?
    The office door opened. One of Sir Gilbert’s
clerks announced, “Mr. Thomas Lanning.”
    What had she done? Relia had to call on every
ounce of family fortitude before she could force her eyes to
look.
    Dear God, here was a man . A man who made Viscount Hanley
look like the shallow boy he was. A man who caused her toes to
curl, her stomach to feel as if she had swallowed a swarm of
butterflies. A man who awakened parts of her she had not known
existed.
    Thomas Lanning stood, slightly
slouched, as if refusing to display himself to full advantage for
the ladies’ delectation. Yet it was clear he was tall, impeccably
dressed, without any of the excesses found in young men of
the ton . His warm brown hair
was uncompromisingly short, allowing only a slight wave to dangle
toward his ears. Gray eyes, veiled at the moment, looked
indifferently down from a face so much stronger than Lord Hanley’s
that it nearly took Relia’s breath away. Handsome, yes, but only if
one cared for a man of granite.
    Yet Thomas Lanning was the stuff of dreams.
Everything a girl might desire.
    Or nothing. Relia could not imagine this man
giving up control of anything.
    Somehow the introductions were over, Mr.
Lanning seated in a chair across the table from Miss Trevor. Sir
Gilbert, looking vastly pleased, and perhaps a trifle sly, bowed
himself out. Miss Aldershot promptly effaced herself to a chair in
the farthest corner of the imposing conference room, leaving Miss
Trevor and Mr. Lanning to gaze at each other in open, and slightly
hostile, assessment.
    Young, so
young , Thomas thought. Too young to be entering into a
hard-headed marriage of convenience. And lovely. Surprisingly so.
Petite. She would scarcely reach his shoulder. And arrogant as a
duchess, by God. The chit