To Marry an Heiress Read Online Free PDF Page B

pleased Papa for me to wear it.”
    “Don’t you ever take into consideration what would please you?”
    “It pleases me to please Papa.”
    Suddenly Lauren dug her fingers into Georgina’s arm and whispered in a low, conspiratorial voice, “My God, I don’t believe it. Huntingdon is here.”
    “Huntingdon?”
    “Papa’s cousin.” She surreptitiously wiggled one of her fingers in the direction of her gaze. “Over there. The wickedly handsome gentleman talking to Papa.”
    Georgina had always thought it was a wondrous expression of Lauren’s closeness to her stepfather that she called him Papa.
    Squinting, she gazed across the ballroom. The man talking to Christopher Montgomery was dark, not only in coloring but in demeanor. She couldn’t explain the reason he seemed mysterious. And it seemed as though, like her, he didn’t quite belong. Even from this distance, she could determine that his black double-breasted jacket was well tailored, yet it appeared that he’d outgrown it slightly.
    Did men outgrow their clothing? She supposed so, if they put on weight, but Huntingdon didn’t appear to have an ounce of fat on him. And he looked to be well past his growing years.
    Maybe it was the breadth of his shoulders, completely unlike those of the men surrounding him. She imagined him working the land in Texas, a vision he would no doubt have taken exception to. When a few gentlemen had visited Lauren, Georgina had discovered lifting a teacup was work to an English peer.
    She suspected Huntingdon engaged passionatelyin sports of some kind. Far be it from the nobility to get their hands dirty in honest labor.
    How could she ever consider marrying a man like this—one she’d never be able to respect? Even if she liked him, how could she admire him, when their values were completely different? And without veneration, she knew it was doubtful love would ever exist between them.
    “How can they be cousins when they look nothing alike?” Georgina mused. An inane question, but at least it served to bring a halt to the arguments rushing through her mind with the force of stampeding cattle.
    “They say there is gypsy blood on his father’s side—it’s quite scandalous. His mother was Papa’s aunt. That’s how they come to be cousins.”
    Gypsy blood. Yes, she could see that now. His skin possessed a swarthiness, unlike the deathly pale coloring of the other gentlemen in the room. Maybe his complexion was part of the reason he looked out of place—physically he simply didn’t look dandified or spoiled.
    “Why are you surprised to see him here?” she asked Lauren.
    “He seldom attends balls or social events. I’ve never even been to Huntingdon, because he’s never invited us, and it’s simply not done to go uninvited. He and his wife called on us shortly after we arrived, but recently he has become a bit of a recluse.”
    Georgina watched as Huntingdon wended his way through the crowded ballroom with poise and confidence, almost prowling. His movementsreminded her of the panther—black, sleek, and restless—she’d observed at the London zoological gardens.
    She didn’t know why she sensed he had a strong urge to roll his shoulders as she’d seen so many cowboys do before they hoisted their saddles onto their horse’s back. A roll starting at the hip and working its way upward almost poetically.
    She enjoyed the natural grace of a man when he was working hard. It was appreciation, not lust, that she felt when she watched a cowboy exerting himself. The rhythm of muscles bunching, coiling, flexing, tightening. Muscles that looked firm even when they were relaxed.
    Sheridan, wherever he was, probably had limp limbs and weak hands.
    Lauren’s fingers threatened to cut off Georgina’s circulation.
    “Oh, my God, he’s coming toward us,” Lauren whispered frantically.
    And Georgina realized that somehow, some way, she’d managed to lock her gaze with Huntingdon’s—or at least it might have appeared that