Miss Gabriel's Gambit Read Online Free PDF

mask a woman who might serve as a model for Temptation personified.
    Sylvia took a deep breath, trying to control her growing anger and decided to return the stranger’s rude gaze measure for measure. It had been a mistake to come down in answer to the peculiar summons, she could see that now. Far better to have sent the footman to seek out Boniface than to subject herself to providing a spectacle for this slack-jawed pretender! Lord Donhill, indeed! Even as a novice to the fashionable world, Sylvia could see that the garments on the man’s tall, muscular frame looked as if they had been pieced together by a tailor with more cheek than skill.
    Since her Uncle’s death had unexpectedly demoted her from the respected daughter of the house to poor relation dogbody, Sylvia had learned that there were those who might consider her fair game for dalliance. She waited for the visitor’s thunderstruck expression to transform into the leering lust she had come to expect from the men who equated poverty with vulnerability, but his shabby lordship surprised her.
     “I must apologize, Miss ...” he said, his lip twisting into an appealing smile.
    “Gabriel, milord,” Sylvia said, schooling her countenance to blandness, she resisted the desire to tell him to put his apologies into the pocket of his hideous coat and leave. Caution and habit caused her to evaluate the situation logically.
    While his dress was less than fashionable it was definitely clean and well-kept. Among the top tiers of the ton, most masculine foibles were tolerated if not celebrated. There was, therefore, the distinct chance that this was one of those instances where eccentricity rather than poverty was at play. In either event, if the man truly did have a title, Aunt Ruby would be most furious at missing this unlikely lord’s call, much more so if she found that her niece had turned him away.
     It would be a sin beyond forgiveness if Sylvia were to offend any man who might be viewed as a likely suitor for Caroline, especially a noble one. Still, if Sylvia’s cousin was his lordship’s object, why had the footman insisted that the visitor had come to call on a mere boy of nine?
    “Miss Gabriel,” David said, feeling more than a little ashamed at putting Sir Miles’ kinswoman to the blush. “I hope that you will forgive me for my uncommon rudeness, but to be blunt; I was startled. I assume that you are aware of your unusual looks. It is somewhat unsettling to be confronted with a living image of a seraph this early in the morning, particularly when one has spent a somewhat iniquitous night.”
    Sylvia found herself relaxing somewhat at his jocular tone and his disarming honesty. She felt an absurd longing to straighten his cravat and sweep that thatch of coal black hair from his eyes until, in a gesture of chagrin, he brushed it aside himself. A shaft of sun streaming through the windows touched him as he removed his spectacles, polishing them absently on that woeful neckcloth of his. The glimpse of those green-flecked brown eyes put Sylvia in mind of rich earth at tilling time. A peculiar sparkle seemed to light his face, making him seem almost like a little boy who has been caught at some mischief. Despite his unexpected charm, Sylvia reminded herself that it might prove to be a serious error to let down her facade.
    “Indeed,” Sylvia replied. “I have no sword, milord, so I fail to see how you could mistake me for an avenging angel.”
    David looked up in surprise. Comeliness and insinuations of wit? He returned his glasses to the bridge of his nose. It was only years of reading the countenances of those who challenged him across the chess board that allowed him to detect a hint of quickly concealed tempest in those sea-green eyes. Other than that fleeting telltale, her exquisite face was fatuously blank, seemingly devoid of expression.
    Had she sized him up and dismissed him because of his casual attire? It would not be the first time that he had