The Perfect Lover Read Online Free PDF Page A

curves. The remembered sensations washed over him, and left him heated.
    He’d been crushingly aware of her as a woman, a female—something he’d never imagined could be. He’d been stunned, not least by the discovery that some part of his mind had consciously wished he’d been carrying her somewhere else. Somewhere a great deal more private.
    Yet at no time had he confused her with any other—he’d known very well who it was in his arms. He hadn’t forgotten the sharpness of her tongue, the lash of her temper. Nevertheless, he’d wanted . . .
    Inwardly frowning, he shifted his gaze back to Lucy Buckstead. If he wanted a wife, surely she was the sort of female he should be considering—well behaved, docile—manageable. He fixed his gaze on her . . . but his mind kept sliding away. . . .
    He set down his cup, conjured a smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I should wash off the dust.”
    With a brief bow to Lucy and a nod to Charlie, he returned his cup to Lady Glossup, smoothly made his excuses, and escaped.
    As he climbed the stairs, Portia, that unexpected moment on the path, and her equally unexpected response reclaimed his mind. Glossup Hall had presented him with unanticipated vistas; he had the time—there was no reason he couldn’t explore them.
    Aside from all else, the challenge of discovering just what one supremely well-educated female had yet to learn about life was well-nigh irresistible.

I never would have thought you a coward.”
    The words, spoken in a soft, feminine, decidedly provocative drawl, brought Portia to a halt on the landing of the west wing stairs. She’d spent the last half hour with the pianoforte in the music room on the first floor of the west wing; now it was time to gather in the drawing room before dinner—she was on her way there.
    By the west wing stairs, not much frequented by the ladies of the party as their rooms were in the east wing.
    “But perhaps it’s just a ploy?”
    The words clung like a caress; it was Kitty speaking.
    “It’s not a ploy!” James spoke through his teeth. “I’m not playing any games—and I never will with you!”
    They were out of Portia’s sight in the hall at the bottom of the stairs, but James’s aversion reached her clearly. Along with a hint of desperation.
    Kitty laughed. Her disbelief—or rather her belief that no man, especially not one like James, would not desire her—echoed up the stairwell.
    Without further thought, Portia calmly, and firmly, continued down the stairs.
    They heard her; both turned. Both faces registered unwelcome surprise, but only James’s registered anything approaching embarrassment; Kitty’s expression was all irritation at being interrupted.
    Then James recognized Portia; relief washed over his features. “Good evening, Miss Ashford. Have you lost your way?”
    She hadn’t, but Kitty had James backed into an alcove. “Indeed.” She struggled to infuse some degree of helplessness into her expression. “I thought I was certain, yet . . .” She waved vaguely.
    James brushed past Kitty. “Allow me—I was just heading for the drawing room. I take it that’s where you wish to go?”
    He took her hand and set it on his sleeve; she met his eyes, and saw the plea therein.
    “Yes, please. I would be most grateful for your escort.” She smiled easily, then turned to Kitty.
    Kitty didn’t smile back; she nodded somewhat curtly.
    Portia raised her brows. “Aren’t you joining us, Mrs. Glossup?”
    Beside her, James stiffened.
    Kitty waved. “I’ll be along shortly. Do go on.” With that, she turned and headed for the stairs.
    James relaxed. Portia turned and let him steer her toward the central wing. She glanced at his face; he was frowning, and a trifle pale. “Are you all right, Mr. Glossup?”
    He glanced at her, then smiled—charmingly. “Do call me James.” With a backward nod, he added, “Thank you.”
    Brows rising, she couldn’t resist asking, “Is she often like