My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3) Read Online Free PDF

was a titled lord for goodness’ sake who fancied himself a poet. From what she had heard, he was rather good, but that was not the point. “I hardly think he spends much time fine-tuning his skills on a horse. Of course, he probably can handle a horse well enough to hunt and ride, as is required of his social class, but from what I’ve observed of most men of the ton these past months, they would rather breed horses and watch other men race them than actually learn to race them themselves.”
    Anne nodded. “That does seem to be a true statement, for the most part. However, His Grace is of the ton , and he’s an excellent rider.”
    “Well, he’s the exception. Clearly. The man does flaunt his shipping empire in the face of the ton without caring that they disapprove, and Sophia did say he had a very unusual childhood.”
    “Perhaps Lord Harthorne is also an exception.”
    A picture of the man flashed in her mind. He had unfashionably long russet locks that made her fingers positively tingle at the thought of smoothing back his curls from his forehead so she could ascertain whether mirth or ire lit his coffee eyes.
    “Jemma—” Anne nudged her “—you’ve a dreamy look on your face.”
    Jemma blinked, appalled at Anne’s suggestion. “I do not,” she snapped. “And if I do, I’m dreaming I will best the man. Come.” She fairly dragged Anne behind her the rest of the way up the hill, not wanting to talk about Lord Golden Tongue anymore. She didn’t stop her stride until she stood face-to-face with Sophia.
    As always, Sophia looked perfect with her dark-brown hair, coal eyes, and flawless porcelain skin. Jemma touched her own freckle-covered face. No one would ever describe her complexion as flawless with all her freckles, not that she cared. She was far too wise to care what a man thought about her freckles or anything else. Or at least she was far too wise now ...after Will. And even if she did care, which she certainly did not, it wouldn’t matter. No man would want a bride who was no longer an innocent. Thank God she didn’t care.
    Sophia kissed Jemma on her freckly cheek. “Hello.”
    “Hello,” Jemma and Anne said in unison.
    Sophia waved toward her husband and Lord Harthorne and gave Jemma a conspiratorial look. “Have you come to watch these two race?”
    Jemma took her cue and glanced at the men, some four feet off, who were talking with a small group that had gathered. Her gaze lingered on Lord Harthorne for a moment. For all the time he surely must’ve spent sitting in a chair composing poems, he looked exceptionally fit in the leather breeches that encased his obviously powerful legs. A moment of doubt that she could have possibly misjudged him and his ability to ride a horse filled her, but she ruthlessly pushed it away. This was her last chance, and she could not afford doubt.
    “No,” she said, making her voice loud enough that both His Grace and Lord Harthorne would hear her, as well as the group of lords and ladies gathered in front of them. “I’ve come to join the race,” she announced.
    Lord Harthorne was the first to turn. He swiveled in his saddle and cocked a russet eyebrow as his gaze locked on her. Awareness of him made her skin prickle. She’d only been around him three times, but each time her skin had done the same thing. She didn’t care for it one bit. Will had once made her skin prickle, and once in her life for such foolishness was quite enough for her.
    Lord Harthorne offered an open, friendly smile, and she frowned in return, suddenly irrationally fearful that he could somehow sense he had an odd effect on her. He combated her frown with a smirk before pulling his reins toward the right and maneuvering his horse to face her. Behind him, conversation carried. He speared her with an amused look. “Are you frowning so fiercely at the prospect of losing to me?”
    “Certainly not!” she muttered. “I’m so sure I can best you and His Grace that I want to