The Pleasure Trap Read Online Free PDF Page B

room only, and that had never happened before. Even more surprising was the presence of so many gentlemen. Men did not read romances, so why were they here? He was wishing, belatedly, that he’d hired a few strapping lackeys to evict any gentleman who thought it amusing to heckle the guests of honor.
    He smiled encouragingly at his authors as he shepherded them to their places at a long table facing the audience. His fears subsided a little when he went to the lectern and the babble of voices died away. Taking a deep breath, he began his opening remarks.
    Eve relaxed a little when Leigh cracked his first joke and the audience laughed along with him. All the authors were nervous, though this wasn’t the first time they’d been in this position. And, really, there was nothing to fear. They would each do a short reading, answer questions from the floor, then mingle with the audience when refreshments were served.
    Since staring at the audience made her nervous, Eve focused her attention on her publisher. Leigh was in his late thirties, fair of hair and complexion, with light blue eyes that seemed to take in the world and all its follies with long-suffering tolerance. To say that she was fond of him did not do her feelings justice. She admired and respected him. He had the knack of making each and every author believe in herself and her work. He and her aunt were her staunchest supporters.
    Her gaze shifted to a table in the front row where Miss Claverley and a group of ladies were gazing in rapt attention at Mr. Fleming. Aunt Millicent enjoyed these writers’ get-togethers more than Eve did. In fact, Eve found this part of the proceedings more of a trial. At the back of her mind, there was always the niggling fear that she would be recognized outside the hotel and hounded like a hapless fox. As a result, she dressed in her plainest garments and did nothing to draw attention to herself. What she looked forward to was when the symposium was over and they could all relax and enjoy themselves at Lady Sayers’s beautifully appointed home.
    A movement caught her eye. A gentleman at one of the tables in the front row was surveying the proceedings through his quizzing glass.
    Ill-mannered fop,
she thought, and she turned her attention back to Leigh.
    Ash lowered his quizzing glass and responded to some remark his grandmother had made. He and his little party had arrived early, at Amanda’s insistence, so that they could get the best seats. As Mr. Fleming introduced each writer in turn, Amanda elaborated for Ash’s benefit.
    “Lady Sayers you already know,” said Amanda, “but in these circles she is known as Mrs. Windermere. She won’t thank you if you betray her identity to her adoring readers. There was an unpleasant incident last year, when a zealous admirer besieged one of the writers in her own home. All very unpleasant! Poor Mrs. Farrar hasn’t written a thing since.”
    Ash nodded. “Mrs. Windermere. I shall remember.” The lady had buried four husbands and, in Ash’s opinion, had the stamina for taking on another four. She was a straightforward, straight-spoken lady, and Ash liked her immensely. When her gaze alighted on him, he gave her a tiny salute.
    The next writer was dressed from head to toe in flowing black, which accentuated her sickly, bloodless complexion.
    “Mrs. Contini is mad about vampires,” Amanda said.
    Ash had no idea what his cousin meant, but it sounded revolting. Just looking at Mrs. Contini made his skin prickle.
    The next in line, Mrs. Rivers, was not one of Amanda’s favorites. “She doesn’t write about love,” Amanda scoffed, “but about you-know-what.”
    “Lust,” his grandmother interjected from his other side.
    That got Ash’s attention, and he raised his quizzing glass to get a better look at the lady. She was a dasher, all right, and was dressed for the hunt in a form-fitting habit with a saucy hat to match. All she needed to complete the picture was a horse and hounds.