Passionate Read Online Free PDF Page B

knitting. “A good strong cup of black tea, that’s what’s needed. Settles the nerves. Straightens the spine.” Her words were punctuated with the sharp click of her needles. “A pity the tea-trolley has not yet arrived.”
    “Well, neither has Father,” Isabelle said from her place on the green and gold settee. “Lily, come play cards with me. I am dreadfully tired of playing by myself.”
    Lily took up her cards, but could not focus on the game. What was keeping Uncle Edward? The clock on the mantel seemed louder than usual.
    “Really, Lily.” Isabelle swooped up the hand. “If you are not interested in playing, just say so. I have not beaten you so easily in ages.”
    “Perhaps Richard will give you more of a challenge.” Lily glanced to the young man draped in the nearby wingback. Richard seemed absorbed in the magazine he was reading and made no response.
    Aunt Mary set down her needlework. “Isabelle, do rouse your brother. He seems to be lost in Mr. Dickens’ latest installment.”
    “Rubbish, if you ask me.” Mrs. Hodges frowned. “Horrid novels that fill young people’s minds with nonsense. Why, I never have met anyone as peculiar as those characters described by Mr. Dickens. The man is off his head.”
    “But entertainingly so.” Isabelle began teasing the pages from her brother’s hands. “Give over, Richard. It is my turn to read.”
    “Now, Isabelle—” Aunt Mary began, but halted as her husband entered the drawing room.
    Lily looked up—her uncle was not alone. Oh no. It appeared Mr. Huntington had been invited to tea after all. Just his tall presence in the room made her feel as though she had been caught in some wickedness. How awkward of him to have come here.
    “My dear, permit me to introduce Mr. James Huntington.” Uncle Edward led his guest forward. “He is the grandson of my colleague and mentor, the late Earl of Twickenham.”
    “Please be welcome,” her aunt said. “We were saddened to hear of your grandfather’s passing. I hope my husband has been of some assistance.”
    “Your husband has been more than generous.” Mr. Huntington made her a bow. “Thank you for allowing me to monopolize his time on such short notice.”
    Uncle Edward offered Mr. Huntington a chair. “I understand you have already met my children, Isabelle and Richard. And my niece, Lily.”
    “I have had the pleasure.” A hint of a smile touched Mr. Huntington’s lips as he took a seat. “Miss Strathmore, I hope you were not harmed by your fall this morning.”
    Lily resisted the urge to draw her legs up beneath her, even though they were decently covered in her pale green tea gown. “I am quite recovered. Thank you.”
    He did smile then, an expression that looked so well on him that Lily almost wished she could forgive his presence. Her gaze lingered on the strong planes of his face. The light cast defining shadows beneath his clean jaw and along the column of his neck. Highlights bleached by the sun shown in his brown hair—burnt umber, yellow ochre—she mixed the colors in her mind’s eye.
    He raised an eyebrow at her.
    Drat the man. She was a painter, for heaven’s sake. She looked at things—flowers, landscapes, people. Her gaze had been entirely of a professional nature.
    “The tea-trolley, at last,” she said, thankful for the distraction. “I find myself quite thirsty.”
    Aunt Mary poured out the tea. Lily took her cup with cream and sugar, studying Mr. Huntington more discreetly as he engaged the others in conversation. It was as she had thought. He could not be a true gentleman. His hair, for one thing. It was over-long, giving him a relaxed, insouciant air—as if he were just returned from some wild escapade. She pushed a strand of her own behind her ear.
    His clothing was equally telling—not in the first state of fashion at all. It was well-tailored and of quality fabric, but hardly something a refined gentlemen would wear. In fact, if it were not for his broad