The Makeshift Marriage Read Online Free PDF

family.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “The Flintshire Grenvilles.”
    “No, my family comes from Somerset.” He sat back, looking steadily at her. “I’ve never even heard of the Flintshire Grenvilles.”
    “Indeed? How strange.”
    “Am I to presume from your question that you come from Flintshire, Miss Milbanke?”
    “No. From Sussex.”
    “Ah, so you are not one of the Leicestershire Milbankes. I did not think that you could be somehow.” He spoke smoothly, and his words conjured up a reminder of her misconduct on the balcony that morning, just as he had intended they should.
    She flushed, at once hurt and furious.
    “And now, Miss Milbanke, could we please dispense with polite conversation, for I vow I find it tedious in the extreme.”
    “I was not aware that either you or your conversation had been in the least bit polite, sir, so dispensing with both will be exceedingly easy,” she said acidly. His manner upset her, even though she knew it was foolish to expect anything else of a man who had obviously taken a dislike to her from the outset.
    “I did not come to Venice to make small talk. I came to think, as I have a great deal which is of concern to me at the moment,” he said, as if belatedly thinking he needed to make some restitution for his gross ill manners.
    “There is no need to excuse your appalling conduct, sir. I shall put it down to your ignorance of how to behave in polite society.”
    His gray eyes darkened angrily, but he said nothing more, allowing her the privilege of the last word this time.
    The conversation, such as it was, had served her purpose. The baron must have realized very swiftly that her appointment with Sir Nicholas was proving disastrous, but at least he could not possibly know she had fibbed about it all in the first place.
    She continued silently with her meal, still smarting from her verbal duel with Sir Nicholas. From beneath lowered lashes she surveyed him, however. He was wearing a tight, dark blue velvet coat, which sported a handsome set of gilt buttons, and a white brocade waistcoat, its top buttons undone to reveal the frill of his shirt. The jeweled pin glittered in the unstarched folds of his cravat, which was tied in the loose style known as the Byron, from the poet’s liking for it. He looked, she thought grudgingly, exceedingly excellent —and exceedingly attractive. Was he always as disagreeable as this, she wondered, or was there another side to him? What would it be like to be courted and flattered by him? She pondered the thought for a moment, and came to the reluctant conclusion that he could probably charm the birds down from the trees if he wished. No doubt the beautiful redheaded woman whose portrait he carried only saw that other side of him. Laura suddenly wished that she too knew that other side, for she had to admit to herself that in spite of everything she found him very attractive. Damn him. And damn her own appalling taste!
    Coffee was at last served and not a single word more had passed between them. It was at this point that the baron chose to present himself at their table, his heels clicking loudly as he bowed.
    “Good evening, Miss Milbanke . ”
    Her heart sank. “Good evening, sir.”
    Nicholas glanced curiously at her as he slowly got to his feet, waiting quite obviously for her to introduce him to the baron. She was a little surprised, for she had somehow assumed that they were already acquainted in some way after the baron’s question earlier that day.
    “Sir Nicholas,” she said quickly. “Allow me to present Baron Frederick von Marienfeld. Baron, this is Sir Nicholas Grenville.”
    Nicholas inclined his head, but his manner was decidedly chill.
    The baron smiled, and it was a smile that did not touch his eyes. Laura felt an urge to shiver as he took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I look forward to our next meeting, my dear Miss Milbanke,” he said softly. Then he turned and left them.
    Nicholas sat down again. “You