The Reluctant Suitor Read Online Free PDF

visits to Randwulf Manor, though both Aris and Leo were at an age of ten and eight years. Regretfully, he detected none now. The prime condition of both animals had made him grateful for those far too rare occasions when, for some reason or another, they had been left behind during the equestrian outings of family members and their many friends. More times than he cared to recall, however, the inseparable pair had been encouraged to race alongside their mounts. In most cases, they had dashed far ahead to scout out the brush or hilly terrain in their eagerness to sink their fangs into larger animals or else gobble up the smaller ones, depending on what they discovered.
    Roger had found himself facing a similar threat the first time he had followed Adriana to Randwulf Manor.
    The hounds had rushed upon him, barking so ferociously that she had been forced to intervene lest they rend his flesh. On later occasions, he had seen her calm the animals with softly scolding tones, doing much to solidify the premise that the huge beasts adored her as much as any member of the Wyndham family. Her proximity usually bolstered his confidence, but at the moment the lady was staring agog at the pair, as if unable to believe they’d leap to the fore in defense of a perfect stranger. Except he wasn’t a stranger.
    Months ago, Roger had been brought brutally to the full realization of his paltry lineage. Such an occurrence had taken place soon after he had arrived in his quest to be with Adriana. He had not been the only one who had come for such a purpose. Nearly a dozen other gallants had been just as bold.
    Later, the lot of them had gathered in the Wyndhams’ drawing room, where, during the course of their tête-à-tête with Samantha, her family, and other acquaintances, Roger had become increasingly mindful of the vast array of portraits adorning the walls. An impressive collection of faces evidenced the very handsome and distinguished line from whence the Wyndhams had descended. In an attempt to appease not only a curiosity about nobles in general, but specifically those related by blood to his host, Roger had
    carefully studied each likeness. One painting in particular, a full-length oil of Sedgwick Wyndham himself, standing majestically beside the very same fireplace over which the portrait now hung, had taken precedence over all the rest, lending largely to Roger’s burgeoning disquiet. The portrait, painted less than two decades ago, had not only affirmed the striking good looks of his lordship at an age of about forty or so, but also the youthful fitness of the pair of wolfhounds.
    No one after meeting the marquess could have lightly dismissed the ability of the artist, for the latter had painted his subject with incredible accuracy, to the extent that even now, many years later, people were still held captive by the darkly lucent gray eyes that seemed to sparkle back at them from the canvas. The refined visage, captured for generations to come, was so strikingly handsome that an ordinary man could easily feel insignificant in comparison.
    Still, whatever feelings were normally stirred within the breasts of those gazing upon the portrait seemed as naught when compared to the emotions that had occasionally been elicited in the actual presence of his lordship. It was as if those darkly translucent orbs had had the ability to see the innermost secrets of a man’s heart and, more disturbingly, to turn one’s focus inward. Roger had likened such an experience to peering into the intricate mechanisms of one’s own character. Thereafter, he had hated Lord Randwulf for what he had been able to discern about himself, not the least of which was the bleakness of his own aspirations. Adriana ranked among the nobility, an earl’s daughter, no less. She was at ease and content within the realm of the landed gentry, and yet Roger, aware of the fate looming over him if he failed to win her, had dismissed the restrictions of his common birth in