Betraying Season Read Online Free PDF

forward and patted her hand. “At the sacrifice of your own pleasure, perhaps? Surely you weren’t so busy playing matchmaker for your sister that you had no chance to find a handsome young man to lose your own heart to?”
    “Well, er. . . .” Blushing, Pen took refuge in a sip of tea. Was she that obvious? And that selfish?
    Persy hadn’t been selfish. She’d concealed her search for the kidnapped Ally from Pen last year, so as not to get Pen in trouble and hurt
her
matrimonial chances with Lochinvar, who she thought admired Pen. But their comedy of errors had been resolved, and Pen was sincerely glad for Persy and Lochinvar. She was only eighteen, after all—well, nineteen, come May. There would be plenty of time to meet eligible young men next season, after she’d studied—
    The drawing room doors flew open just then, banging back against the wall as if blown by a gust of wind. Startled, Pen turned in her chair.
    A tall man strode across the room, hatless but still wearing his greatcoat. He carried a scent of fresh, cold air and peat smoke with him, and his fair hair was tousled and windblown above strong, regular features.
    “Sorry I’m late, Mother. My watch needs to go to the clockmaker’s shop for a cleaning, I think.” His voice was low and musical, with a faint hint of Irish lilt underlying it.
    Lady Keating shook her head in remonstrance, but her face waslit by a warm smile. “Naughty boy. Come and meet my guest. Miss Leland, this is my son, Niall Keating.”
    Pen looked up into deep blue eyes set under straight brows. The eyes widened as they met hers, then crinkled in a slow smile that made her heart skip a beat.
    “Miss Leland,” he said, bowing and clicking his heels. “Do forgive my lateness. Though I’m not sure I forgive myself, now that I see what I’ve been missing.”
    “Yes, Mother did order a spectacular tea today, didn’t she?” Doireann delicately brushed a crumb of cream cake off her sleeve.
    Niall Keating shrugged off his coat, took the empty chair next to Pen, and accepted a cup of tea from his mother. Neither he nor Lady Keating seemed to notice that Doireann had spoken.
    Pen tried not to as well, but she couldn’t help feeling stung. Why was Doireann being so . . . so unfriendly to a stranger? Niall’s apology had been charming and gallant, delivered in a caressing tone that made her insides do a quick happy flutter. But his sister’s reply had made the sweetness suddenly seem overdone, like too-ripe fruit.
    She stole a glance at Niall. The corners of his mouth quirked the faintest bit as he caught her looking at him. With a shrug, he rolled his eyes upward, then gave her a small, conspiratorial smile.
    Pen stifled the urge to giggle. Niall Keating resembled his sister in neither looks nor temperament, it seemed.
    “Are you fond of walking, Mr. Keating?” she asked politely.
    “I am when it isn’t raining,” he replied. “Which isn’t often in Ireland, as you might have noticed, so I must take my walks when I can. Have you been in town long?”
    Pen let him draw her into polite conversation about her visit andabout her home in England. It was all such familiar territory, this courteous tea-table talk, that she was able to make the required responses with just half her attention, which allowed her to focus the rest on examining this splendid young man.
    She could well believe the rumors Dr. Carrighar had mentioned concerning his paternity. She had seen portraits of the various sons and daughters of George III in Princess Sophia’s apartments in Kensington Palace last year and remembered the princes as being handsome, if fleshy, with fair hair and sleepy-lidded, come-hither blue eyes. Niall Keating would not have looked out of place among them. But his mother’s elegance of feature had refined the hearty Hanoverian in him—if the rumors were true, that is—and made him more attractive still. Pen hoped she wasn’t staring, but she couldn’t help it. He would