And Then She Fell (Cynster 19 Cynster Sisters Duo #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

of any man—she bundled the sensations aside, and when that didn’t work, banished all awareness of them from her mind.
    Spotting her, he strolled across, his stride all long-limbed predatory grace; joining her, he smiled and inclined his head in response to her polite nod. “Good morning.”
    “Indeed. I thought we could sit on that bench over there.” Keeping a firm grip on her wayward senses, with her parasol she indicated a park bench, presently unoccupied. “We’ll be far enough from the fashionable areas to ensure we won’t be interrupted.” Starting for the bench, she continued, “I need to get a better idea of the sort of young lady you’re looking for, and then we need to devise our campaign to locate her.”
    Large, lean, and powerful, he strolled beside her. “I can see the sense in the latter, but as to the former, I suspect beggars can’t be choosers.”
    “Nonsense!” Reaching the bench, with a swish of her skirts she sat, and frowned up at him. “You’re a Glossup—you can’t marry just anyone.”
    The expression in his eyes suggested he wasn’t so sure about that. “I’m desperate, remember?” He sat beside her and looked out over the manicured lawns.
    “Desperate time-wise, perhaps, but not, I fancy, desperate choice-wise.”
    “I bow to your greater knowledge of my options. So”—he glanced at her—“where do we start?”
    Henrietta paused to consider. She’d spent half the night wondering why she’d offered to help him—why she’d felt such a compulsion to do so. Yes, she’d felt obligated, given that the difficulty he now faced was a situation her actions, albeit wholly justified, had inadvertently contributed to. Yes, he was Simon’s best friend, and she felt another form of obligation on that score, but she’d finally decided that the greater part of what had moved her had been simple guilt. She’d misjudged him, in her mind even more than via her actions; she’d failed to recognize, let alone credit him with, any sort of honor, yet as a Cynster she knew honor was a sterling quality that not only men valued—ladies, if they had any sense, valued it, too.
    And it was very easy to see that the greater part of what was driving him—the primary source of his desperation—was his unquestioning devotion to the welfare of people whose well-being was an obligation he’d unexpectedly inherited. He didn’t have to take up that burden, yet he had, and from all she could see, it hadn’t even occurred to him to shrug it aside, even though, in reality, he could. His grandaunt’s estate aside, he was wealthy enough in his own right to walk away, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t even thought of it. It was difficult to get much more honorable than that.
    Although she wasn’t, even now, totally certain as to the entirety of her motives, guilt had, at the very least, weighed heavily in the scale.
    Settling more comfortably on the bench, she commanded, “Tell me what traits you don’t want, or alternatively that you specifically require, in your bride.”
    His gaze on the trees and lawns before them, he took a moment to think, then replied, “No flibbertigibbets, no ninnyhammers. And preferably not anyone too young. Whether she has a dowry or not is of no consequence, but as you observed, she should be of good family, preferably of the haut ton. If she can ride, that’s a bonus, but social aptitude is, I suspect, a must.” He paused, then asked, “What else?”
    Henrietta’s lips quirked. “You forgot the bit about her being at the very least passably pretty, if not a diamond of the first water.”
    “Ah—but you already knew that.” From under heavy lids, he slanted her a glance. “You know me so well.”
    She humphed. “I know your type well enough, that’s true.” She mentally reviewed his responses, then asked, “Are there any physical characteristics you prefer? Blond rather than brunette, tall rather than short—that sort of thing.”
    Dark brown hair, taller