Dangerous Gifts Read Online Free PDF Page A

cat’s expression, Leah said, “I’m ready, Aunt Andrea.”
    Arm in arm, the two women left Leah’s bedroom and descended the sweeping staircase into the vestibule that opened into the flower-filled ballroom. Leah felt as if she were wading into a river of sound as the roar of conversation clashed with the energetic playing of the musicians.
    Halfway down the stairs, heads began turning toward Leah and her godmother. Silence fell, rippling from the vestibule into the ballroom. One man said reverently, “By Jove!” while another exclaimed, “She’s a goddess!”
    Guests in the ballroom began crowding into the vestibule. Before Leah’s startled eyes, the area at the bottom of the stairs filled with people, their eyes fixed on her. Most of the expressions were stunned admiration, but here and there tight-lipped women resentfully analyzed the new competition.
    Leah froze, wanting to run back upstairs, but the pressure of Lady Wheaton’s grip kept her moving down. “I told you,” her godmother whispered triumphantly. “Look at them! You’ll be betrothed before the month is out, my girl.”
    They reached the bottom of the stairs and were instantly surrounded by men with avid eyes and lusting hearts. A tall, heavyset fellow demanded, “An introduction please, Lady Wheaton!”
    Beside him, a soulful gentleman said with a French accent, “A dance, mademoiselle, you must save me a dance.”
    A wide-eyed young man called out, “Your hand in marriage, my dear goddess. I shall make you Countess of Wye.”
    Other demands, other needs, chewed at her. Leah could feel the lust coming from the men like animal heat. They were tall, strong, closing in like wolves. . . .
    You wanted to be admired. The words formed in her mind, light and ironical. Lord Ranulph, perhaps, watching her in some strange faery way?
    The faint mockery of the thought steadied her. Well, she had wanted admiration. She simply needed time to become accustomed to so much attention. Already that first rush of panic was retreating.
    Lady Wheaton began making introductions and allotting her protégée’s dances. Leah was more than willing to let her godmother handle such things. Her own energy was engaged simply in keeping her wits about her. A pity she had never attended a ball as her normal, mousy self. If she had, she would have been better prepared. But of course, her normal mousy self had never been invited anywhere.
    After the flurry of introductions, she was handed into the keeping of her first dance partner, Lord Wye, the young man who had virtually proposed before he’d even learned her name. He was one of the eligibles Lady Wheaton had described, which meant that he was possessor of a vast fortune and an impressive title.
    Unfortunately, he possessed neither a chin nor conversation. Throughout their dance, he simply stared at Leah adoringly. She guessed that he was no older than she. She felt torn between sympathy for his shyness, and amusement at the way he blushed whenever she ventured a comment. The smile she offered him at the end of their quadrille reduced him to babbling incoherence.
    Her next partner, the Duke of Hardcastle, was more articulate. He was in his middle thirties, a widower and man of the world who was at the top of Lady Wheaton’s list of eligibles. He was quite a handsome man, and he made witty comments whenever the patterns of the dance brought them together. Altogether a good husband prospect, except that his hot, hungry gaze seemed to strip her naked.
    Yet even though Hardcastle made her nervous, she felt a glow of triumph at the knowledge that he wanted her. No one had ever wanted her old, plain self.
    She curtsied prettily at the end of the dance. “Thank you, Your Grace. You are very kind.”
    “Kindness has nothing to do with it.” His heavy lidded gaze studied her with searing intensity. “Until next time, Miss Marlowe.”
    He returned her to Lady Wheaton, who took advantage of an interval between dances to introduce