Dangerous Gifts Read Online Free PDF

Leah to some of the powerful women who ruled London society. Leah had recovered enough from her earlier nervousness to smile, curtsy, and acknowledge the introductions without stammering.
    Her progress was followed by approving comments such as “What pretty manners the girl has,” and “She does you credit, Andrea.”
    Leah was tempted to laugh. She was merely practicing the courtesy learned by any child in the schoolroom, yet some of the women acted as if her behavior was unusual. That meant either that great beauties were often rude, or that Leah was getting more credit for good manners than a less beautiful girl would.
    By the end of the long evening, she was enjoying every shred of admiration that came her way. Lady Wheaton was right—this was power. The warm gazes were balm after a lifetime of being ignored. Leah’s simplest remarks were greeted with laughter, as if she were a great wit. Her every smile was received like a precious gift. Her dances were sought after as if they were the holy grail.
    She had become a belle—and she loved it.

Chapter Three
    By the end of a fortnight’s social activity, Leah was universally acknowledged as the Beauty of the Season. So many flowers had been delivered that every room of Wheaton House was perfumed with blossoms. She had started a collection of the poetry that had been sent to her. Half of the pieces came from the adoring Lord Jeffers, society poet and eligible bachelor. As Lady Wheaton had said, he wasn’t the poet that Byron was, but the man did know how to turn a pretty phrase.
    Resting in her room before preparing for a ball at the Duke of Hardcastle’s famous mansion, Leah smiled over Lord Jeffers’s latest effort, then tucked it away. The poet was quite charming, but in love with the idea of love rather than with her.
    She relaxed into her wing chair, welcoming the interval of peace and quiet. There had been few such times in the last fortnight. “It’s very exciting being a belle, Shadow, but I haven’t fallen in love yet,” she said with a sigh. “I haven’t even met someone I want to fall in love with. Is there something wrong with me?”
    The cat turned her head to Leah, for all the world as if she were listening. A thought appeared in Leah’s mind. You haven’t met the right man.
    Leah was no longer surprised at such incidents. Admittedly all cats were rather fey, but she was half convinced that Shadow had been sent by Lord Ranulph as some sort of guardian. If witches had familiars, why not faeries?
    A wordless note of disgust touched Leah’s mind. She grinned at the cat, who was twitching her plumy tail with irritation. “Do you find that thought insulting? I’m sorry.” She went to get her harp from its case, then sat again and ran experimental fingers over the strings. The familiar singing notes made her smile with pleasure. She settled down to play seriously. Her fingers were a little stiff, but they loosened rapidly.
    It seemed no time at all before Monique entered. The maid said, scandalized, “M’zelle, you should be dressing for the ball!”
    Leah almost protested that she wanted to spend the evening playing, but stopped herself. She had come to London to find love. There would be time for music later.
     
     
    The dance ended and the Duke of Hardcastle bent to kiss Leah’s hand. “You waltz beautifully, Miss Marlowe. But of course, you are beautiful in all ways.”
    Flushed from the swirling dance, Leah inclined her head graciously. “A good waltz requires a good partner.”
    The duke’s mouth curved in a predator’s smile. “As witty as you are lovely.”
    It hadn’t been that witty, but by this time Leah had become used to such exaggerated reactions. The duke tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his arm and continued, “The ballroom is very warm. Come into my garden for some fresh air.”
    Leah hesitated. He had called at Wheaton House several times, always claimed two dances at each event, and had taken her driving