Indigo Sky Read Online Free PDF Page A

performance. She knew she should have been smarter. Her mistake was ignoring him instead of politely thanking him. She held her breath and crept up the stairs on her tiptoes, heading for the French door.
    “Ah, there you are. Wait, don’t go.” He staggered toward her.
    She shrank back against the wall. Within a few strides, he was close to her. She put her hands up to keep him at bay.
    “Wait for what?” She scooted past him into a passage leading to the ladies’ room. How can I expect civility from a drunk ? Why did I let him goad me ? It seems impossible to walk away.
    Flapping her fan to cool her heated face, she hurried into the ladies’ room. Heart thudding, she leaned on the marble washstand, trying to catch her breath. Drawing a deep, shuddering breath, she studied her image in a French framed mirror. “I’m a mess.” She touched her flushed face. All fixable . She removed her gloves, dipped her hands in the washbasin, and splashed water on her face. Instant relief. She tucked errant hairs into place and smoothed her gown.
    “Beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am. I went out for a minute.”
    Leila squeaked and spun to face the attendant. Her eyes fell on a proffered cloth.
    “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle ya, ma’am.”
    “I feel a little indisposed.” Leila laughed weakly. “And obviously jumpy.” She took the cloth and dabbed her face.
    “Aye, ya do look pale.”
    “I do?” She turned and pinched color into her cheeks. “I should go.” She pulled on the damp gloves.
    The attendant chuckled. “A pale complexion is fashionable.”
    Leila grimaced. “I don’t favor the consumption look.” She walked out and rested a moment against the paneled wall in the passage, her eyes closed. She wondered if she should tell Hank about her knight in shining armor. Her eyes snapped open. Pah, he’s no knight. The man is a rogue . Hank would probably react badly. Trepidation curled through her. His moods are unpredictable, and he’s impatient with me, but I have to tell him . Shoulders slumped, she pushed herself from the wall. I’d better join them for dinner. Even if Hank hadn’t noticed her absence—and he probably hadn’t—her mother certainly would. Leila hurried to the drawing room. She lifted her skirt and increased her pace, the annoying encounter tucked away . . . for now.
    Leila paused at the entrance. Gas-lit chandeliers illuminated the gay and fabulously attired throng that milled about the drawing room. Leila pressed a hand to her midriff and sucked in a breath. A soft laugh drew her eyes to a woman beside her.
    “The décor is rather plain compared to the ballroom, don’t you think?”
    The woman’s brown eyes sparkled, and Leila liked her instantly. “Yes, it is. I wonder if Mr. Herter is responsible for the ballroom,” said Leila.
    “He could well be. He designed our home in Connecticut. His work is lovely. Oh, how rude of me, I’m Anna Lockwood.” She canted her head, her blonde ringlets catching the light. “May I ask your name?”
    “Leila Ashburn Dempsey.”
    She clapped her gloved hands, which made a dull thud. “Oh, is your husband the well-known author?”
    Leila nodded.
    “Please call me Anna. I believe you’re seated at our dinner table.” She dipped into a brief curtsy. “I must go. It’s been a pleasure. I promised to meet my husband. He’s at the fireplace.” She wrinkled her pert nose. “As usual, he’s probably discussing business.”
    Leila automatically returned the curtsy, her eyes scanning the room for Hank. With an expert eye, she briefly studied the prestigious art hanging from crown moldings on ribbon-wrapped wires. Her own collection of landscapes, by local artists, flitted through her head. She mentally lingered on one of her favorites, Emerald Pool by Millburn. Sighing, she moved away from the art and continued looking for Hank.
    He stood by the hearth, leaning on the mantel, surrounded by men. As usual, he held court, and his audience hung on his