The Wagered Widow Read Online Free PDF Page B

the duration of a dance, nonetheless, either walking with her through the cooler halls, or taking her on to the terrace to admire London’s myriad lights and the clouds that drifted across the quarter-moon.
    Shortly after midnight she was led into the refreshment room by a long-time friend, Major Hilary Broadbent. He was a pleasant young man, with sandy hair (now hidden by powder) and the pale skin and freckles that so often accompany such colouring, and he looked very dashing in his scarlet regimentals. His long, narrow tawny eyes had brightened when they fell upon Rebecca, and, although she might yearn for the escort of a certain baronet, she was very well pleased to accept the major as her supper partner.
    The large room was warm, bright with flowers, crowded with guests, and ringing with chatter. Mrs. Boothe was already seated with some of her cronies, and from the corner of her eye, Rebecca saw Trevelyan de Villars, distinguished by his height if not his behaviour, as he flirted with his lady love at the centre of a covey of friends.
    Major Broadbent said, “Oh, there’s The Monahan. She’s the latest Toast. A striking pair, eh?”
    She had deliberately avoided a direct look at the group, but now glanced that way. De Villars’ twisted grin flashed, and he raised his glass in a brief salute that managed somehow to embarrass her. She nodded frigidly and turned away.
    Surprised, Broadbent said, “I’d not realized you was acquainted. Should you like to join them?”
    â€œNo. Thank you.”
    He looked at her sharply, then chuckled. “Taken him in aversion, have you? As well. He’s no fit friend for you, m’dear.”
    She rapped her fan lightly on his wrist. “And you have not the right to so name me, Hilary Broadbent!”
    â€œThose dimples make me want to say a deal more,” he said with fond impudence. “But first, I’ll get your supper.”
    He seated her at a small table for two and went off. Rebecca allowed fancy to drift. Moments ago, she had seen Sir Peter lead a pretty girl into the minuet. Soon, the dance would end. He would come in search of the widowed Mrs. Parrish, for he must have been struck by the beauty of her gown, and his eyes, when first she arrived, had been full of admiration. He would stay beside her, chatting politely, and she would be her most gracious self. Not a trace would she reveal of the “hoydenish starts” that sometimes caused dear Aunt Alby to throw up her hands in despair. Tonight, she would be all demure and pretty propriety, and Sir Peter would be charmed … intrigued, even.… He would say—
    â€œI give you good even, Mrs. Parrish.”
    The subtly taunting voice stiffened Rebecca’s back, but she looked up and extended her hand politely.
    His grey eyes gleaming, de Villars bowed over it. (One had to admit The Creature was graceful.) “A charming picture you make, ma’am. And—all alone? Criminal! By your leave…” He did not wait for her leave, however, but in a sort of easy swoop disposed his long self in the chair.
    â€œOh!” Rebecca blinked. “But—that is Major Broadbent’s place, sir.”
    â€œWe shall guard it for him, you and I. Now tell me, my Fair, of what were you thinking? You looked as enchanted as enchanting.”
    She did not immediately reply, but surveyed him thoughtfully. The thick, crisp hair was expertly powdered and brushed into a style that softened his sardonic features. The magnificently tailored black jacket hugged his broad shoulders without so much as a suggestion of a wrinkle. The silver frogging was dramatic, and the white satin waistcoat, embroidered with black roses, made him look even more suave and sophisticated. She thought, with an unconscious curl of the lip, “Even more raffish!”
    Belatedly, she became aware that he was laughing softly. Aghast, she stammered, “Oh! Your pardon! I