My Notorious Gentleman Read Online Free PDF

wound.
    She could not deny that she was somewhat amused.
    “Good-bye,” she called as loudly as she dared.
    “Good-bye yourself,” he shot back.
    She frowned. Well, nice meeting you, too. Then she watched him go marching off into the shadows.
    Glad he was gone, she supposed that was the last that she would probably see him. After he’d taken such pains to flee the “carnivores,” it seemed unlikely he would return to the ballroom.
    She, on the other hand, had better get back down there in short order, or someone might eventually notice she was gone. You’re dreaming, she thought, recalling her apparent invisibility to others downstairs.
    Oddly enough, however, she wasn’t feeling so lonely anymore. The prospect of returning to the ball seemed even duller now, knowing that Lord Trevor would not be there. Nevertheless, she realized George might be looking for her even now to claim his dance. Better fix my hair. She could still practically feel his clever fingers running through her hair, his sensual touch on her skin . . .
    Scandalized by her own thoughts, she scrabbled about to find a candle and tinder in the room. Laying hold of one at last, she struck the flint with hands that still trembled, but finally managed to bring back a flicker of light.
    Then came the task of remaking her chignon. In short order, she had twisted her long, light brown hair into a smooth rope. She looped it around her hand to form a neat bun, then tucked the edges under and inserted the long hairpin she had poked him with to hold it all in place.
    There. Now she looked like the Reverend Kenwood’s virtuous daughter again.
    In the glass, however, her cheeks still glowed coral pink. Nervously pulling up her neckline again, she frowned at her reflection.
    What a barbarian he was, grabbing at her so! No one had ever touched her body like that before in her life. She still felt foolish and overwarm, guilty and unsure. It wasn’t my fault, she assured herself, smoothing one last stray hair into place. He’s the one who started it.
    In any case, he hadn’t even meant to do it. She understood that now. He had thought she was one of those awful women stalking him and had reacted accordingly.
    He had only kissed her to be rude. Of course, he had apologized. Egads, there was no point in dwelling on it. Forgive and forget. The man had made a mistake.
    A rather startling mistake, one they had both enjoyed . . . Indeed, every woman ought to be kissed like that just once in her life, Grace thought, as another sigh escaped her. The main thing was, it wouldn’t happen again.
    Her heart sank. Back to being a spinster.
    But she wasted no time in sneaking out of the parlor. She opened the door a crack, glanced to the right and left, and finding the hallway empty, headed back to the ball.
    A wkward. So, so very awkward.
    Comically so—even though the humor was at his own expense.
    Trevor could not believe he had made such a mortifying blunder, but it just went to show how out of sorts he was, and besides, as mistakes went, this was one he had thoroughly enjoyed.
    It had also made one thing very clear: Perhaps it was time he started paying attention to life again, get his bloody head on straight, and come out of his dark fog of angry, bitter brooding.
    Whoever she was, the little minx had certainly jarred him out of his disillusioned rut.
    Half-amused, fully chagrined, and still smoldering from head to toe with thwarted lust, he headed for his carriage, hands in pockets.
    Still, the question would not leave him alone. Who was she?
    A little terror, that’s who. He could not believe she had jabbed him with her hairpin—all to escape his kiss, which he had doled out as if he were doing her a favor.
    Tickled by the irony, even though he himself was the butt of the joke, Trevor paused reluctantly and glanced back over his shoulder at Lievedon House, all its windows warmly aglow.
    Hang it, he was torn about whether to go home now as planned or venture back