The Perfect Waltz Read Online Free PDF Page A

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    JOHNDONNE
     
 
 
 
 
“MRS. JENNER, WHO IS THAT MAN?” HOPE MERRIDEW NUDGED her chaperone, a modishly dressed, middle-aged woman.
    Hope had become aware of him during the last part of the reel. She’d felt his gaze pass over her, like a physical touch, with an intensity that made her shiver.
    Tall and brawny, he had the sort of hard, tough physique that made her shiver. She’d grown up under the harsh rule of her tall, powerful, insane grandfather; she would not lightly put herself in such a man’s power again. She preferred elegance and gentle manners to raw physical power.
    She shivered again. Not that she was frightened—she’d grown in experience and confidence since she and her sisters had escaped from their grandfather’s violent custody, and she wasn’t easily intimidated. But there was something so . . . so particular in the way he was staring at her.
    Since arriving in London, Hope had grown accustomed to being looked at, even stared at. People found twins fascinating; they were always staring and comparing to discover the similarities and differences between them. She’d outgrown the initial embarrassment of it, though her twin, Faith, still found it unnerving at times.
    But this felt somehow different. As if he wasn’t looking at both of them, he was watching her .
    He bent and said something to Giles Bemerton. The contrast between the two men was delicious; Mr. Bemerton, the quintessential ton beau, was all slender elegance and golden good looks. His friend, the big, enigmatic stranger, was all hawkish angles and brooding, dark intensity.
    Beauty . . . and the beast. Not that he was beastly, but life had left its marks on his face; even from this distance you could see that his nose had been broken at least once. But it wasn’t his severe, dark looks that intrigued her so much, it was the way he carried himself with the bold indifference of a warrior prince in civilized climes. Not with strutting arrogance but with quiet certainty.
    She shivered again. Mr. Bemerton was much more in Hope’s style: lighthearted, charming, and funny, with all the latest on-dits.
    The two men strolled on, and Hope saw she was not the only one whose eye was drawn to the tall dark man. She watched as they parted to skirt around a group of chattering girls, all in their first season. Their chatter died, and each one of the beautifully coiffed heads turned to watch him—the tall one—pass.
    She’d read an account once of a tiger passing through a jungle—the jungle had fallen silent as it passed. Not a monkey, not a bird had made a sound.
    She watched as he prowled on, oblivious of their interest, while behind him the girls formed an excited, whispering huddle. Hope smiled. Who was the prey here, she wondered, the chattering monkeys . . . or the tiger?
    “Do you know who he is?” she asked her chaperone again.
    “Hmm? Which one, my dear?” Mrs. Jenner peered vaguely around.
    “The tall one over there. Dressed for a funeral instead of a ball and prowling the room with a hungry-looking scowl on his face. I don’t think I’ve seen him before.” She hadn’t. Who could forget a man like that?
    “Which gentleman?” Mrs. Jenner raised her quizzing glass. “Funeral, you say? Hmph! Half the young men these days dress for funerals instead of balls. In my day they dressed as young peacocks, in satin breeches and gorgeously embroidered—oh good heavens, that man!” Mrs. Jenner started slightly as she followed the direction of her charge’s gaze. “That wretched boy, Giles Bemerton, has been introducing the fellow into all the best circles and cannot—positively will not!—be hinted out of it.”
    “Why should Mr. Bemerton not introduce him?” Hope asked, intrigued.
    “Shoulders like a common stevedore!” Mrs. Jenner sniffed. “No surprise there, given his background!”
    As if he was aware of being the subject under discussion, the dark man turned his head slightly and looked directly at them.