Dear Impostor Read Online Free PDF

poured him–how else could she explain his air of
unfeigned gaiety?–slipped up, he would be exposed as a fraud, and then so would
the whole fallacious engagement. She would end up more firmly imprisoned in her
uncle's power than ever, and she might be forced into marrying the odious
Percy, just to escape a major scandal.
              Oh, what had she done? Psyche felt
sick with apprehension. Circe would be helpless, too; she had failed her little
sister, and she had left them both in danger of disgrace. All because of one
reckless actor who would not sit meekly and play his part–or perhaps he played
his part entirely too well.
              The conversation at the top of the
table had almost died, as more and more of her family listened shamelessly to
the stories and jests that the man at the other end dispensed so easily, with
such lazy charm. His comments were punctuated by bursts of laughter from the
people lucky enough to be seated around him, and his stories received rapt
attention.
              Next to her, Percy stabbed at his
roast pork with short, angry motions. "I cannot think why you would prefer
such an obvious trickster–"
              Psyche thought she might faint. "What
are you saying?" she asked, her voice weak.
              "I mean, it's obvious that
charming manner is all a pretense; he only wants your money, Psyche. How could
you be taken in by such a fortune-hunter?"
              Psyche relaxed a little. "That
isn't true," she said, trying to sound as if she believed her own words. In
fact, she was increasingly afraid his charge was more accurate than Percy guessed,
and this actor was motivated not just by the payment she had promised him but
by hopes of a larger gain. If not that, he was totally insane, throwing himself
into the part like this, with no sense of the consequences to them both if he
was found out.
              "I cannot see how you could
possibly prefer such a fibberjibbet to your own cousin, whom you have known all
your life." Percy slapped his fork down onto the table, his narrow eyes
seething with outrage. He had a trace of gravy on his chin, and his neckcloth
was now dotted with crumbs.
              She stared at him and kept her
voice even with some effort. "I know it's hard to imagine, Percy. You must
consider a female's natural tendency to folly."
              As always, irony was wasted on
Percy. "I do think you've taken leave of your senses, Psyche, and I always
thought you had escaped the irrationality of your parents."
              She glared at him, and he changed
his direction awkwardly. "That is to say, you've always shown the utmost
respect for society's dictates, doing only what was proper and decorous, unlike–unlike
some people. But this–this–well, he's almost a dashed dandy, Psyche. I really
thought you had better sense!" Percy's voice was shrill with dismay.
              Psyche looked back down the table
toward her hired fiancé. The man showed no sign of dandyism; his evening dress
was perfectly cut, his jacket a sober black, his cravat snowy white linen, his
whole costume just what good taste dictated. He wore only one simple signet
ring; he had no fobs or gold chains or diamond studs to flaunt his wealth or
singularity of taste. Yet, he still stood out of the crowd–he really couldn't
help it. His dark good looks, the tanned skin that should have made him look
like a common laborer but somehow instead only emphasized the excellent
cheekbones and rakish dark brows, the dark blue eyes that flashed with
intelligence and wit. No, this actor might have escaped the attention of the masses
so far, but he must have been acting inside a barrel to do it.
              He seemed to have mesmerized her
whole family. Or almost all–when Great-uncle Ernest, on her other side, leaned
over the table, intent only upon his pudding, she turned her back on Percy's
whining and listened once more