Devil's Match Read Online Free PDF Page B

think, I was not born to vex Aunt Lenore.”
    Before she could wheedle and coax, he executed a quick little bow and turned his attention to the alcove behind the musicians. It seemed to him that he could literally hear his aunt sigh with relief as he moved away.
    Safely hidden by the curtains, Caroline shifted her position in one of the straight-backed chairs to gain more illumination from the candle sconce above her. Unconsciously she slid a kid slipper off her foot and settled back to read again. Bending her head low to see the page, she failed to note that she was no longer alone.
    â€œDo you mind if I join you, Miss Ashley?”
    She jumped guiltily and looked up to take in the tall frame and handsome face of Juliana’s cousin. “Since I have but one book, I fail to see how ’tis possible, sir,” she responded waspishly to his intrusion. The smile faded from his eyes and she was instantly contrite. “Your pardon, sir—I did not mean you were unwelcome,” she managed as she searched for her shoe with her stockinged foot.
    â€œAllow me.”
    Before she could fathom his intent, he had dropped to one knee and retrieved the slipper, slid it on, and tied the narrow strap at her ankle. Red-faced, she tried to draw her foot away, but he held it firmly. When he looked up, there was a hint of amusement in the hazel eyes that temporarily nonplussed her.
    â€œThank you, sir—but would you mind unhanding my foot?” Then, suddenly realizing how high-handed she must sound, she managed a self-conscious little smile. To her relief, he released her ankle and took the chair next to hers.
    â€œSo, Miss Ashley, what is so fascinating that it tempts you away from the squeeze out there?” he asked as he reached to close the open book over her fingers and read aloud, “ Pride and Prejudice, eh? I quite like Miss Austen’s works myself, although I prefer Sense and Sensibility over this one.” He flipped the cover back open and noted the dog-eared condition of the novel. “Not the first time through this one, I’d have to say,” he observed.
    â€œNor the second,” she admitted ruefully. “I find books I enjoy are like friends—they bear a continuing acquaintance as one discovers something new about them each time they are met.” She raised her dark eyes to meet his. “Silly of me, isn’t it?”
    â€œNot at all. While I am fond of Austen’s works, I cannot say I’ve read any of them twice. Shakespeare, on the other hand, is quite another matter. And I’m afraid my copy of his sonnets is positively falling to pieces.”
    â€œYou are funning with me, sir,” she accused stiffly.
    â€œI assure you I am not. Indeed, I’ll bring it with me the next time we meet and you can see for yourself,” he promised solemnly despite a twinkle that lit his eyes.
    â€œMy lord … Westover, is it? Gentlemen of the ton do not usually admit to reading anything other than the Gazette.”
    â€œAh, but then I am lately come into my title, so I daresay I’ve not learned all the finer points of being a viscount.”
    â€œNow I know you are funning with me.”
    â€œNo.” The twinkle faded as he admitted, “I’ve not gone about much and certainly I’ve not spent any time surveying the Marriage Mart. It all seems a foolish and empty pastime, if you want my opinion.”
    â€œIt is a foolish and empty pastime,” she agreed readily. “But ’tis a ritual to be followed nonetheless if one is to be successful socially. To even admit to being different, unless one becomes the latest fashionable rage as Brummell has done, is social suicide. Somehow, sir, I cannot think a passion for Shakespeare will make you fashionable. Now, if it were Byron—”
    â€œOh, I quite like him, too … and Shelley and Scott and young Keats … Coleridge, Wordsworth, Lamb—I like all of them except