To Distraction Read Online Free PDF

could set up a tournament.”
    “Not pistols,” Deidre immediately said. “Archery. That way we ladies can join in.”
    Deverell smiled—genuinely. The others took the altered expression to signify encouragement; they immediately fell to discussing plans for an archery tournament. In reality, that smile was for himself; as he’d expected, thinking him drawn in, Phoebe was making her move.
    She’d already turned from him to chat with Mrs. Morrison; quietly taking her leave of that lady, she continued turning away and slipped from his side.
    “Will you join us with bow and arrow, my lord?” Deidre gazed up at him, hazel eyes openly inviting.
    He raised his brows. “I certainly plan to take aim at a target.”
    His intended target was out of earshot.
    Deidre beamed and turned to her brother. Deverell seized the moment to nod to Peter and Edgar. “Put my name down. If you’ll excuse me?”
    A rhetorical question. Deidre swung to him, disappointment in her eyes, but she quickly concealed it. She bobbed a curtsy; Mrs. Morrison nodded approvingly and let him escape.
    Finding Phoebe wasn’t hard; she was skirting the knots of guests, clearly intending to slip away.
    Amiably smiling, he set out in pursuit.
    Phoebe saw him coming. She stifled an irritated sigh and turned to face him, mentally canvassing who else was present, what other young ladies might interest him. Neither Leonora nor Deidre had managed to hold his interest; perhaps he liked young young ladies?
    Twenty minutes later, her frustration had reached newheights. Young young ladies made him cling even more tightly to her skirts. More, it had belatedly occurred to her that he was being far too amenable—too malleable—in allowing her to guide him around. He wasn’t the malleable sort.
    He had no intention whatever of letting her distract him; no matter how pleasant and sociable his interaction with others, his real attention—his focus—had never shifted from her.
    The realization sent a most peculiar ripple through her usually unimpressionable nerves.
    Exasperated, both with him and that ripple, that he’d been able to make her feel such a thing, she marched away from the last knot of guests to which she’d introduced him—Heather Jenkings was a perfectly sweet chit—ridiculously aware that, if anything, he now prowled even closer beside her; all her senses, all her skin on that side, were flickering at his nearness.
    Halting beneath the branches of a nearby tree, out of earshot of any others, she swung to face him. And fixed him with a narrow-eyed glare. “Audrey told me you were a major in the Guards, and that you fought at Waterloo. Is that correct?”
    His green eyes met hers; the glint of amusement she caught in their depths sent her temper soaring. He nodded. “Along with an army of others.”
    “Indeed. But having faced down Boney’s finest, I can’t see why a quiet chit like Heather Jenkings should have the power to render you witless.”
    His dark brows shot up. “Witless?”
    “Well, speechless at any rate.” She waved back at the group about Heather. “You stood there like a sphinx—beyond a hello and a good-bye, and the curtest of replies, you uttered not one word.”
    His expression remained mild, still faintly amused. “Remaining silent seemed wisest. Better than allowing my boredom to show.”
    She frowned at him. “Heather bored you?”
    He glanced at the other guests. “All young ladies bore me.”
    Eyeing his face—a study in masculine impassivity—Phoebe pressed her lips tightly together, reminding herself that she was no longer classed as a young lady. She made herself think twice, then said, “I understand…well, we’ve all heard that you need a wife.”
    His attention shifted back to her; once more she was treated to the full intensity of his gaze.
    She lifted her chin. “It’s common knowledge, and here you are, looking over the field.”
    His mobile lips quirked. “Not quite. But you’re right in that I need