Almost a Gentleman Read Online Free PDF Page A

first gentleman ever… to make me feel, to make me
want
to feel like a woman
.
    Abruptly, she dropped her hands from her bosom, clenching them until her fingernails bit into her palms. She welcomed the pain, grateful to be distracted from the waves of erotic sensation that had threatened to overpower her.
    There will be no more of
that
, she cautioned herself. Because in
that
direction lay disaster. The success of this past three years' masquerade lay precisely in the fact that she
didn't
feel like a woman. She didn't stand or sit or act like a woman because she didn't
want to
feel like a woman. Not ever again.
    Oh, her disguise was clever enough; she'd done a good job of turning her unusual looks into those of an exquisitely well-realized dandy. But the icy heart of Phizz Marston pumped champagne instead of blood because its possessor refused to feel what was buried deep within it—the humiliation of having submitted to a spoiled, stupid husband, the agony of losing a beloved child.
    She was so convincing as a man because she didn't ever want to be a woman again. And no handsome sunburned earl just up from the country would stop her from living the daring, eccentric life she'd chosen.
    She rang the bell. Poor Billy, I've kept him waiting too long already.
     
    Lord Linseley had left the ball early. The waltz lesson had gone rather better than he'd feared; he supposed that he could negotiate his way about the floor if ever called to do so at a cousin's wedding or some similar festivity.
    He didn't know if he'd be returning to Almack's, though. Lonely as he was, and in need of female companionship, David doubted that the London marriage mart was the way to find it.
    He'd had a drink with Wolfe at their club, fixing himself another, back at his town house.
    And another. The hours had ticked by, the fire had almost burned itself out, but David made no move to rouse himself from his armchair and take himself to bed.
    The trouble, he told himself, was that life with Margery had been all too comfortable. It had been the perfect life, perhaps, for a man who wanted sex, companionship, and understanding—but who had been oddly wary of love.
    She'd been an innkeeper, a pretty young widow when they'd first met. There'd been a storm, he hadn't been able to get home to Linseley Manor that night. He'd never stayed at the Red Boar Inn before, but he was impressed by its cleanliness and by the quality of the kidney pie she served him on short notice; all the other diners had been abed when he'd arrived.
    Her cook had gone to bed as well; she'd been too kind and fair an employer to wake him. She'd heated up the kidney pie herself, serving it up with some good ale. She'd been blond and buxom and freckled, pretty in a country way, still ripe and desirable at twenty-five. And as lonely as he was, for all her energy and good cheer. Her husband had died the year before, she told him when he'd invited her to join him in a second mug of ale. She'd been running the inn by herself. It was a good business and kept her too occupied to feel sorry for herself. Except sometimes, late at night.
    Yes, I know what you mean, David had responded. He'd been busy too, fairly overwhelmed by work and responsibility since he'd come into his property. He liked farming—he was lucky to have wonderful lands, a good steward and excellent tenants. But sometimes he wondered if he were up to it. He was only twenty-one, after all. Sometimes, during the lonely late nights, wrestling with the accounts and wondering whether to plant or leave a certain field fallow, he feared that he'd make terrible mistakes, go into debt or disgrace his family in some horrible way.
    Well, you'll marry soon, she'd told him. No problem there anyway, a rich, handsome boy like you. All the local gentry must be after you for a son-in-law.
    He'd shrugged and sighed. He'd had a shattering youthful romance a few months before and was still cherishing his early heartbreak and passionate vow never to