The Further Observations of Lady Whistledown (Lady W 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

cut in, grabbing her arm again. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” He leaned over, brushing her ear with his lips. “But just remember that I was not the one making snow angels. If you’d behaved, you might have avoided meeting me altogether.” That wasn’t quite true; he’d intended to come to London in the spring to bring her to Yorkshire, anyway. He would have been a fool, however, not to take advantage of the leverage her indiscretion gained him.
    She looked sideways at him. “So if I hadn’t appeared in Lady Whistledown’s column, you never would have bothered to exert yourself to leave Halfurst? Now who’s being absurd?”
    His first instinct was to send her a retort about her own lack of respect for their parents’ agreement. They’d already covered that territory, however, and he intended on moving forward—not revisiting the past. “Perhaps we should just agree that we haven’t regarded our duties to one another as we should.”
    “That’s my point,” she insisted. “I don’t have a duty to you.”
    “Then why are we walking together in the snow, my dear? You did seem to think it would be a horrific experience.” He brushed a snowflake from her nose. “And yet it becomes you.”
    Anne glanced over her shoulder at her maid, but not before he glimpsed her sudden smile. “Humph. I’m most likely on this crusade because I’ve been rendered senseless by weariness and hunger.”
    He laughed. And he’d thought he would find her a malleable, if spoiled, chit. “I’ll remember that you prefer to stay in bed late, then,” he murmured, noting the flush of her cheeks. He didn’t think her color was because of the cold, and that pleased him. “For this morning, though, I thought you might enjoy some fresh bread and butter from Hamond’s bakery.”
    She evidently was hungry, because she didn’t object when he led her to the bakery and ordered breakfast. “How did you know about this place?” she asked, between dainty mouthfuls of buttered bread.
    “I’m not a stranger to London,” Maximilian answered, resting his chin on his hand to watch her eat.
    She looked up at him from beneath her thick, curling lashes. “Then why not visit more often?”
    “I don’t like it here.”
    “But why not? Friends, soirées, the theater, shops, the wonderful food—what’s not to like?”
    She’d left out the most alluring feature of London—herself. Generally at this time of morning he would be out in the far pasture, checking on his livestock. On occasion London did have its merits. For a moment he didn’t want to answer, but he seemed to be developing a curious weakness for honest inquiry and moss green eyes. “Your experience differs somewhat from mine. I…found I was being judged by rumor rather than by my character.”
    “Perhaps that’s because we had nothing else to go by.” Her gaze darkened. “That’s why I presume you’re here as much for my purse as for me.”
    He smiled. “We were betrothed when I was seven, Anne. My only concerns at the time were horses and tin soldiers. I’m sorry to say, you were neither. Very disappointing, really.”
    She scowled, bread halfway to her alluring lips. “Do you mean to say we’ve met before?”
    Nodding, Max ran a finger down the back of her hand. “I held you, when you were three months old.”
    “You did?”
    “Yes. You sneezed on me, and poked me in the eye.”
    She laughed, a delightful, musical sound that made his pulse speed. “And you’ve no doubt carried a grudge against me for nineteen years because of that.”
    “Hardly.” Max twisted his lips. Finding the words to say had never been difficult before. Before, though, he hadn’t cared about the impression he made. Perhaps that was another reason he hadn’t fared well in London. Directness didn’t seem to impress many people here. But Anne seemed to appreciate it. “At fourteen, it seemed ridiculous to write letters to a seven-year-old. At twenty, you were still a babe of