Bait & Switch Read Online Free PDF Page B

smoother than cobblestone.”
    Mrs. McDowell — Amelia — laid a delicate hand on Mitch’s arm. “You were supposed to meet Peyton here last night, dear. Not tonight.”
    “Then you can see why I got confused.” Mitch’s jaw was starting to hurt from keeping his smile in place. He didn’t get mixed up about dates and times. Ever. But then he typically knew where his dates lived.
    “Perhaps you’d better go collect her,” Amelia said helpfully.
    As far as advice went, it wasn’t bad. Mitch probably had time to drive to Peyton’s place and get her to the ball by eight. The snag was that he still didn’t know where Peyton lived.
    “I’m afraid we might miss each other if I did that.” He tried to ignore the way Mr. McDowell continued to scowl at him. If Cary had never met the McDowells, why the chilly reception? “How ’bout I follow you to the ball and catch up with her there?”
    Mr. McDowell turned to his wife, whispering something that sounded like, “Do we have to let him, Magnolia Blossom?”
    Amelia acted as though she hadn’t heard her husband. She offered Mitch her arm. “That sounds like a grand plan, Mitch dear.’
    They walked to the curb ahead of Peyton’s father with Mr. McDowell’s eyes searing holes in Mitch’s back.

    PEYTON GATHERED UP the long skirt of her lacy evening gown, swung her smoothly shaven legs out of the car, stood on her fashionable Ferragamo shoes and slammed the door with all her might.
    Anger pumped through her veins along with the Charleston blue blood her parents constantly reminded her that she had. She couldn’t decide who deserved her anger more. Herself or Cary. . . er, Mitch, as though that made any sense.
    Probably herself, she thought as she stamped up the sidewalk to elegant Hibernian Hall. In the month she’d known him, he’d never been anything but completely irresponsible. He was one of those men who didn’t bother with the details of life, opting to get by on charm and good looks. Worse, she’d let him.
    Instead of dumping him yesterday, she’d allowed her red-hot fury to burn down to cinders while he spun his ridiculous yarn about the bridge and Bobby McGee.
    He’d looked so worried she wouldn’t believe him that she’d let him bamboozle her into giving him another chance. So thoroughly duped was she that she’d actually believed he’d turn up on time to escort her to the ball.
    She needed one of those support groups for family and friends of flawed individuals. Like Al-Anon. Only he was a charmaholic instead of an alcoholic.
    Enough was enough. The next time she saw him, she was telling him they were through.
    The tops of her high heels bit into the soles of her feet, and she realized she was stamping. She moved through the iron gates that bracketed the hall, consciously slowing her steps. How many times had her parents drilled into her that appearances were everything? It wouldn’t do for her to barge into Charleston’s classiest ballroom red-faced with anger.
    “Peyton McDowell, you have never looked lovelier.”   At the sound of the man’s voice behind her, Peyton whirled, then relaxed. G. Gaston Gibbs III strolled through the iron gates, wearing a charming smile and a designer tuxedo. Growing up, Peyton had distrusted Gaston’s smooth tongue, but her opinion of him had changed drastically when she became a volunteer at the Charleston League of Historic Preservation.
    “Why, thank you for the compliment.” She affected a slight curtsy.
    “You’re just the woman I was hoping to run into.”
    Peyton didn’t miss a beat. “Please say that’s because you’re buying that historically significant property on Smith Street?”
    Gaston chuckled and closed the distance between them. He was the picture of a Charleston aristocrat, with fair hair and a slim build that caused him to appear taller than he was. She supposed he was good-looking, although she secretly thought his sharp features made him look a little too much like a fox.
    “If