Jacquie D'Alessandro Read Online Free PDF Page B

And suddenly puzzled.
    “No, of course there are no frogs here, Miss Chilton-Grizedale.”
    Heavens, had she spoken out loud? Surely not. A buzzing commenced in her ears, and she stared into his face. He seemed like a decent man…. announce that today’s wedding will not be taking place…not taking place.
    And he’d just ruined her life. Dear God.
    “Glad you’ve finally come around,” he said. “Had thought you were made of sterner stuff, but clearly I was mistaken.”
    A frown pulled down her brows. “Come around? What do you mean?”
    “You swooned.”
    “I did no such thing. I am not prone to the vapors.”Good heavens, what was wrong with her tongue? It felt thick and foreign in her mouth.
    He smiled. A crooked half smile that creased a dimple in his cheek. “Well, for one not prone to the vapors, you sunk like a papyrus brick tossed in the Nile. Do you feel well enough to sit up?”
    Sit up? She cast her gaze about and realized with no small amount of chagrin that she was lying on her back on a sofa. And that Lord Greybourne sat perched upon the edge of the sofa, his hip pressed against hers, her one hand clasped between his wide palms, which continued to gently caress her skin. Heat radiated up her arm, spreading warmth through her entire body—warmth that had nothing to do with the consternation suffusing her. He was entirely too close, and she was entirely too…prone.
    Good heavens, she had swooned! The reason for her vapors came rushing back in a wave. Lady Sarah…no bride…no wedding…cursed groom—who was indeed rough around the edges, in ways she’d never imagined.
    Snatching her hand from his, she lifted her head, but the movement served no purpose other than to accentuate the odd floating sensation behind her eyes. A low moan passed her lips.
    “Take some deep breaths,” Lord Greybourne said, and demonstrated by drawing in a mighty breath that puffed out his chest, then slowly exhaling. His warm breath tickled the curls surrounding her face.
    “Do you think I don’t know how to breathe?” She hadn’t meant to sound quite so testy, but this disastrous debacle coupled with his closeness to her person had clearly tossed her off kilter.
    “I’m not certain. I do know that you won’t require a demonstration on how to swoon. You already know how to do that.”
    Good heavens, he was nothing short of insufferable. Here they were, faced with utter travesty and social ruin, and he was making jokes! Closing her eyes, she took a half dozen deep breaths. Feeling considerably better, she again attempted to sit up, but discovered she couldn’t move. “You’re sitting on my gown, Lord Greybourne.”
    He shifted, then, grasping her shoulders, lifted her in a no-nonsense fashion into a sitting position, all but plopping her onto her bottom. Embarrassment, combined with a healthy dose of irritation—directed at herself or him, she wasn’t certain—pricked her. “This may come as a shock, my lord, but I am not a sack of potatoes to be hauled about.” The jarring movement knocked a long curl loose from her carefully arranged coiffure, and the lock flopped over her eye.
    Pushing aside her hair with impatient fingers, she realized she no longer wore her bonnet.
    “I removed it,” he said, before she could question him. “I thought perhaps the ribbon tied beneath your chin might restrict your breathing.” A half smile touched his lips and he tugged at his cravat. “God knows this thing constricts my airflow. You might also want to fix your gown.” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of her neck.
    Dipping her chin, she realized with chagrin that her fichu was loose and pulled askew, exposing an expanse of skin that, while not indecent, was certainly far more of her bosom than normally saw the light of day.
    She sizzled him with an outraged glare, but his lips curved upward in a patently unrepentant grin. “Didn’t want a choking female on my hands.”
    Any gratitude she may have