All About Passion Read Online Free PDF

lashes.
    "Yes?"
    She watched him approach without recognition, and just a touch of wariness. Gyles remembered that he'd insisted his offer be made in his titular name; she clearly did not connect him with the gentleman she was considering marrying. "Gyles Rawlings." He bowed, smiling as he straightened. Someone else must have seen him watching her yesterday and reported it to Charles—the woman who had called her, perhaps? "I'm a distant cousin. I wonder if I might walk a little way with you?" She blinked, then smiled back, as mild as he'd imagined her to be. "If you're a relative, then I suppose that's all right." With a wave, she indicated the path by the lake. "I'm taking the dogs for their constitutional. I do that every day."
    "There seem to be quite a number of them." All snuffling at his boots. They weren't gun dogs, but the smaller version—house dog, almost lapdog. He had a sudden thought. "Are they yours?"
    "Oh, no. They just live here."
    He glanced at her to see if she'd meant that as a joke. Her expression stated she hadn't. Falling into step beside her, he swiftly assessed her figure. She was of average height, her head just lower than his chin; she was slightly built, somewhat lacking in curves, but passable. Passable.
    "That dog there"—she pointed to one with a ragged ear—"she's the oldest. Her name is Bess." As they continued around the lake, she continued naming dogs—for the life of him he couldn't think of any suitable conversational distraction. Every opening his normally agile mind supplied seemed inappropriate in light of her naiveté and undisguised innocence. It had been, he reflected, a long time since he'd last conversed with an innocent.
    But there was nothing to find fault with in her manners or her deportment. After the seventh dog, he managed a comment, to which she replied readily. She displayed a guileless openness that was, as Charles had noted, oddly soothing. Perhaps because it was undemanding.
    They reached the end of the lake and she turned toward the parterre. He was about to follow when a flash of emerald caught his eye. His gaze locked on a green-habited figure riding—streaking—across a distant glade. The trees afforded him only a brief glimpse, then she was gone. Frowning, he lengthened his stride and rejoined his intended.
    "Dolly is quite good at catching rats…"
    As they crossed the lawns, his companion continued with her canine family tree. He paced beside her but his attention had flown.
    The damned gypsy had been riding fast—exceedingly fast. And the horse she'd been on—had it just been the distance and her small self that had made the beast appear so huge?
    Reaching the parterre, his companion turned onto the path that led around the formal garden. He halted.
    "I must be on my way." Remembering why he was there, he summoned a charming smile and bowed.
    "Thank you for your company, my dear. I daresay we'll meet again." She smiled ingenuously. "That would be pleasant. You are a very good listener, sir." With a cynical nod, he left her.
    He strode through the shrubbery, keeping an eye out for green-habited dervishes. None appeared. Reaching the stable, he looked in, then called a "Hoi!" Receiving no reply, he walked the long aisle, but could discover no stablelad. He found his chestnut, but could see no sign of any horse that had just been brought in. Yet the gypsy should have reached the stable by now; she'd been heading in this direction. Returning to the yard, he looked around; there seemed to be no one about. Shaking his head, he turned to go in and fetch his own horse when a patter of feet heralded the stablelad. He came racing into the yard, lugging a double-panniered picnic basket—he skidded to a halt when he saw Gyles.
    "Oh. Sorry, sir. Umm." The boy glanced to the side of the stable, looked at Gyles, then at the basket.
    "Umm…"
    "Who's that for?" Gyles indicated the basket.
    "Miss said to fetch it right away."
    Miss who? Gyles nearly asked, but how many