Annabelle's Courtship Read Online Free PDF Page B

across the room.
    Ian turned toward her and bowed, but declined her invitation to sit. “Your servant, Lady Beauford.” He nodded to his friend. “Finchley.”
    “I say,” Finchley quizzed him, “I did not know you intended to call. You could have ridden in my carriage.”
    Riding with his friend would have included following the other man on his morning calls, something Ian had no desire to do. “I’m hoping to take Lady Annabelle on a wee drive.”
    Finchley nodded in understanding.
    Annabelle let out a small gasp. Turning back toward her, Ian saw that she had pricked her finger on a thorn. He withdrew his handkerchief and gently tugged at her arm. She resisted. He tugged harder until he could see the drop of blood on the end of her forefinger. He wrapped it in the square of white linen.
    “Really this is not necessary.” Her chest rose and fell in agitation and her hand trembled in his. “It’s just a prick.”
    He refused to release her hand, welcoming any excuse to touch her. “I dinna want you to spoil your lovely frock.”

    She pulled her hand from his grasp. “Do not think to turn me up sweet with empty flattery, my lord.”
    She looked like a daffodil, but she pricked him like the rose she held. “I’m sorry the flowers caused you injury. In future I will make sure they have no thorns.” She broke her gaze from his and looked at the pink rosebuds. “They are beautiful. A prick does not signify.”
    Aye, not in a spirited lady either. “So you like them?” She turned and placed the bud back among the other blossoms. “The roses are more palatable than their sender.”
    He nodded gravely. “I shall send them often then.”
    “It will do you no good.”
    He smiled at the challenge. “We’ll see.”
    She walked past him, a swirl of yellow muslin. “Yes, we will.” He reached out and stayed her with a hand on her arm. “Will you go driving with me?”
    She didn’t answer at first. She began to pace back and forth in front of him. Her brisk movements caused soft brown curls to escape their pins. Short breaths forced her bosom to strain against her bodice. The tightness in his lower body intensified. Soon, it would be obvious to those around him. He shifted to ease the tightness of his buff pantaloons.
    “Enough of this farce, Laird MacKay.” She stopped moving and offered him a piece of paper with several names written on it. “I have taken the liberty of preparing a list of possible candidates for you.”
    He ignored the paper. “Candidates?”
    “Yes, ladies that would make you a respectable wife.” She looked at him quizzically, as if waiting for his response.
    He made no move to take the paper from her. She sighed. “After speaking to my aunt last evening, I understand your need to marry quickly. I believe the ladies on this list would suit your needs better than I.”
    He stalled for time to consider the best way to handle her tactics. “How did you determine their suitability?”

    “They are all ladies of good family who have shown marked desire to marry and do not have a number of admirers with which you will have to compete. Some are even marginally pretty and a few have substantial dowries.” Finchley sat with his mouth agape. He turned to Lady Beauford. “I cannot credit this conversation.”
    “Neither can I. The girl is daft. This is her fifth season and she’s turning down the only man to have offered for her in the last three,” replied the older woman.
    Ian couldn’t help smiling at Lady Beauford’s words. Just as he thought, Annabelle should be ready to marry. He did not understand his own certainty that Annabelle must become his, but he knew he would not look elsewhere for a wife. He wanted the stubborn woman standing before him looking so bloody pleased with herself. “I have already found a lady who meets my every requirement.” Annabelle did not appreciate the comment. Her hazel eyes narrowed. A rapid pulse beat in her neck. He fought the urge to pull her