Leslie Lafoy Read Online Free PDF Page A

least with most of the women of his experience. His mother had always maintained that women were gifted with highly developed senses of intuition. And while he’d always considered it a rather flimsy excuse for the lack of cool logic and well-planned actions, he’d learned that efforts to make them think more like men were not only hopeless, but exceedingly frustrating. They were happily what they were and there was no changing them.
    On the more positive side of the ledger, Isabella Dandaneau didn’t seem to have even a sliver of false pride; she’d outright and easily admitted to poverty. And the fact that she’d come to him asking for help certainly implied that she had an uncommon amount of pragmatism; that she understood the importance of putting success before any notions of personal independence.
    And, thanks to the combination of her moving around on the seat and a rather pathetic set of hoops, he could see that she also had a most wonderfully curved waist, hip, and backside.
    Barrett reined in his smile and forced his gaze to the floor. God, he really needed to see that she found what she was looking for and was on her way as soon as humanly possible. The longer her departure was delayed, the greater the chance that he would do or say something he’d later regret. Although, he had to admit, it was going to be hard to do anything that turned out more regrettable than having taken Mignon home.
    Leaning down, he trailed his fingertips over the seams joining the seat bench to the floorboard. It was tight and he knew even as he made his search that he wasn’t going to find anything in the course of it.
    “The floor as well?”
    Hearing the amusement in her voice, he leaned forward and checked the other side, replying, “I’m not going to provide you with the specific details.”
    “I should hope not,” she countered, the distinct sound of laughter edging her words. “Not that I can’t very well surmise them on my own, you understand.”
    “Oh?”
    Isabella struggled to keep her smile suppressed as he straightened and met her gaze. “I’m well acquainted with the carnal possibilities in even the shortest carriage ride,” she assured him.
    “Really.”
    Oh, Lord help her; the way he cocked his brow and the dry, almost sardonic edge to his drawl were so … so … Appealing. If the one time in her life when she’d listened to the little voice of temptation hadn’t turned out so very badly … She swallowed down her suddenly skittering heart and somehow managed to blithely retort, “Of course. I simply haven’t made it quite the habit or the art form that Mignon did.”
    His brow rose another degree. “But since you are a widow, those days—and possibilities—are past you now.”
    She couldn’t decide if it was a backhanded invitation or an observation that she was, fundamentally and to his general disappointment, a woman with obvious moral standards. “They were past me while I was still a wife,” she admitted and then abruptly, firmly, took the subject in a less personal direction, saying, “I gather that you didn’t find anything in searching the floor? She might have folded it quite small.”
    “Nothing.”
    “Damn,” she muttered on a sigh, looking down at her lap. “Despite knowing better, I had hoped this might be relatively easy.”
    He snorted quietly and said, “I know my acquaintance with your cousin was limited, but it was sufficient to form the distinct impression that Mignon never did anything in an ‘easy’ fashion.”
    “No, sadly, she didn’t,” Isabella supplied, absently smoothing the persistent wrinkle in her skirt. “Her life would have been much happier—and longer—if she had. In a great many respects, she seemed to go through her days trying to make as many enemies as she possibly could. In my kinder moments I often felt very sorry for her.”
    Barrett pursed his lips and considered the woman in the opposite seat. What would Mignon have said about her? he