Susan Carroll Read Online Free PDF Page A

in exile from London.
    "I trust my name is not unknown to you,
monsieur." What had come over her? Her speech held none of the
haughtiness she had rehearsed during the coach ride from Bath.
    Brushing aside the lace at his wrist, the
marquis produced an enameled snuffbox from his waistcoat pocket,
flicking it open with a careless gesture. Phaedra watched him, her
eyes riveted on every graceful movement. As he raised a pinch to
one finely chiseled nostril, his mouth tipped into a slight
frown.
    "Grantham? Now, where have I heard ... Ah,
yes." He snapped the snuffbox closed, his eyes returning to
Phaedra. He studied her with cold assessment. "You are Ewan
Grantham's--er, how do you English put it-Lord Ewan Grantham's
relict?"
    The words broke the spell of his fascination
as effectively as a slap in the face. A surge of heat rushed
through her. How dare he treat her as if her entire life and being
were summed up by her marriage to Ewan?
    "No, my lord," she snapped. "That is not how
I would put it at all. I think perhaps you might know me better as
Sawyer Weylin's granddaughter from Bath."
    "Indeed?" he asked, his attention wandering
past her to the ballroom.
    "I trust you have no difficulty in recalling
his name. It would seem that my grandfather sets great store by
your advice. A fact I find most astonishing."
    "It always pleases me to be a source of
astonishment to a lady."
    He favored her with a brief nod, the king
dismissing a peasant girl. "Your pardon, madame. Another recent
acquaintance beckons me," He walked away, leaving her speechless
with anger.
    Muriel snickered behind her fan. "Oh, lud,
Phaedra. How very disappointing. I had expected something a little
more spectacular. After all, you are passably pretty. I vow the
marquis took more notice of Sophie Grandisant, in spite of her
prominent front teeth. "
    "I have not done with him yet," Phaedra
said.
    Never had she encountered the likes of such
arrogance-not even in those dreadful days of her marriage, when
Ewan Grantham had held his untutored bride up to ridicule before
all his fashionable friends. She had learned a great deal since the
time when one snub would have sent her, teary-eyed, to cower in
some corner. She had learned enough to be able to teach the marquis
that she was not so easily ignored. With quick strides, Phaedra
placed herself directly in Varnais's path.
    “My lord," she said. "I came here tonight
expressly to meet you."
    He flicked an imaginary speck of lint from
his waistcoat. "How flattering."
    Phaedra became aware of more than one head
turning in their direction. She longed to draw the marquis off into
some secluded nook to conduct this conversation, but Lady
Porterfield's ballroom offered no such place. Lowering her voice,
she said, "They are now forming sets for the minuet."
    "Do I understand you to be asking me to
dance, my lady?"
    "Yes, I am," she replied doggedly. She must
be mad! This was beyond the pale, even for the untamed Phaedra
Grantham. She had the satisfaction of at last obtaining a reaction
from Armande de LeCroix.
    "How very-" She thought she detected a slight
quiver of amusement in that smooth voice, but he went on, "How very
original your English customs are, my lady. I had no idea."
    Once more Phaedra became aware of the dozens
of eyes trained upon her. Dear God, where would she find a hole
large enough to crawl into if he refused?
    One corner of his mouth twitched. "Ah bien , how could I maintain my honor as a Frenchman if I
refused such a request from a beautiful woman?"
    With that he offered her his hand. A
blood-red ruby ring set in heavy gold contrasted with the bronzed
strength of his fingers. She placed her own within his grasp,
bracing herself for the chill. To her astonishment, the hand
gripping hers was warm, sending a current rushing through her that
made the heat of the ballroom seem as nothing. As he led her onto
the floor, the buzz of voices threatened to drown out the music;
but to Phaedra, all sound faded into