The Bargain Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

her hair neatly braided into a coronet atop her head, like a golden crown. Well, he had to admit he was disappointed in that. He’d looked forward to seeing her glorious blond curls rioting around her face and shoulders again. Now only a few ringlets were permitted to caress her cheeks.
    She wore a gown made of costly watered silk, perfectly fitted if not in the latest London style. The lower waist than he was used to became her, showing off a willowy figure. The lower neckline than the green sack she’d had on earlier became her more, showing off a well-formed bosom for such a slender female. He quickly raised his glance.
    The shimmering blues of the gown made her eyes appear luminous, especially reflecting from the chain of round-cut sapphires at her neck, any one of which could have purchased another mare or two for his breeding stock. Her hair was the sun, her eyes were the sky, and her lips were rosy dawn. Her complexion had lost that hectic choleric color—which her father’s red cheeks now bore—and instead had the clarity and glow of fresh cream. Altogether, she reminded him of a clear country morning, except for the expression on her face.
    If she was not careful—or if no one made her laugh—Miss Goldwaite could end up looking like the bulldog banker who fathered her, with her mouth permanently turned down and scowl lines etched between her eyebrows. If not for that, and the fists she kept clenched at her sides, his former fiancée would be a diamond of the first water. For now she was merely stunning, unless his opinion was formed by surprise at the transformation a careful toilette made.
    No, West told himself, the woman was attractive in herself, and intriguing for the emotions that she did not try to hide. The usual well-bred London miss kept her expression bland, afraid to cause wrinkles, and afraid to show any kind of passion lest she be considered loose, flighty, or difficult. Miss Goldwaite was difficult, all right, but her father—or any other red-blooded man—could not fault her appearance. She even wore satin slippers on her feet.
    West went toward her, to lead her to the chair opposite her father’s, whispering, “Don’t let him intimidate you. I will be right behind you.” He took up a position at her back, his hand resting on the leather cushion an inch from her shoulder.
    Before Sir Gaspar could start the rant he was nearly choking on, a footman wheeled in a cart and Miss Goldwaite was busy pouring out tea and filling plates. As soon as the servant left, while her father’s mouth was full of the cook’s best strawberry tart, Miss Goldwaite began. “Father, no matter what you say, I shall not marry Lord Westfield. We have decided together that we do not suit.”
    West had to smother a laugh at that. Was that what they decided, when she bashed him? Still, he admired her tactics: attack while the enemy was distracted.
    Sir Gaspar choked on a bite of pastry, then gulped at his tea. He looked at Westfield, ignoring his daughter. “That so? What about what we decided?”
    â€œWe had not come to any conclusion. You threatened to challenge me to a duel; I agreed to come meet with Miss Goldwaite.”
    Penny set her cup down. “A duel, Father? At your age? With your poor eyesight?”
    Sir Gaspar huffed. “Nothing wrong with my age, and I’ve got my spectacles, haven’t I? And I wasn’t going to let him pick swords, no matter if it was his choice. A duel’s how gentlemen settle differences, don’t you know. Otherwise I could hire a ruffian to beat him up in an alley.”
    West ignored that last. “There will be no duel. There was never going to be one. I would not shoot at a man old enough to be my father. Nor shall I be coerced into a marriage I never agreed to. I told you I was ready to repay the money you gave to my father. With interest.”
    â€œOf course I’d collect the interest if I