To Taste Temptation Read Online Free PDF Page A

sitting at her left, perched at the very edge of her chair so that several inches of air was between her ramrod-straight back and the chair’s back. The older woman inclined her head. Her lips were pinched, but her eyes were staring at the hem of Miss Hartley’s dress.
    Mr. Hartley smiled, his mouth twisting rather raffishly at the corners as he bowed over her aunt’s hand. “How do you do, ma’am?”
    “Very well, I thank you, monsieur,” Tante said crisply.
    Mr. Hartley and his sister sat, the girl on the yellow and white damask settee, her brother on the orange wing chair. Emeline settled in an armchair and nodded at Crabs, the butler, who immediately disappeared to order the tea.
    “You said yesterday that you were in London on business, Mr. Hartley. What kind?” she asked her guest.
    Mr. Hartley flicked the skirt of his brown coat aside to set one ankle across the knee of the opposite leg. “I deal in the import and export of goods to Boston.”
    “Indeed?” Emeline murmured faintly. Mr. Hartley seemed not at all self-conscious to admit engaging in trade. But then what else could one expect from a colonial who wore leather leggings? Her gaze dropped to his crossed leg. The soft leather fit closely to his calf, outlining a lovely masculine form. She averted her eyes.
    “I hope to meet Mr. Josiah Wedgwood,” Mr. Hartley said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him? He has a marvelous new crockery factory.”
    “Crockery.” Tante Cristelle employed her lorgnette—an affectation that she used mainly when she wished to cow others. She peered first at Mr. Hartley and then returned to her fascination with Miss Hartley’s lower skirts.
    Mr. Hartley remained uncowed. He smiled at Emeline’s aunt and then at Emeline. “Crockery. Amazing how much crockery we use in the Colonies. My business already imports earthenware and such, but I believe that there is a market for finer stuff. Things that a fashionable lady might have at her table. Mr. Wedgwood has perfected a process to make creamware more delicate than anyone has ever seen. I hope to persuade him that Hartley Importers is the company to best bring his goods to the Colonies.”
    Emeline raised her eyebrows, intrigued despite herself. “You will market the china for him there?”
    “No. It will be the usual exchange. I will buy his goods and then resell them across the Atlantic. What’s different is that I hope to have the exclusive right to trade his goods in the Colonies.”
    “You are ambitious, Mr. Hartley,” Tante Cristelle said. She did not sound approving.
    Mr. Hartley inclined his head to her aunt. He didn’t seem perturbed by the old woman’s disapproval. Emeline found herself reluctantly admiring his self-possession. He was foreign in a way that had nothing to do with being American. The gentlemen of her acquaintance didn’t deal in commerce, let alone discuss it so bluntly with a lady. It was rather interesting to have a man regard her as an intellectual equal. At the same time, she was aware that he would never belong in her world.
    Miss Hartley cleared her throat. “My brother has informed me that you have kindly agreed to chaperone me, ma’am.”
    The entrance of three maids bearing laden tea trays prevented Emeline from making a suitable retort—one that would wing the brother and not the girl. He’d taken her assent for granted, had he? She noticed, as the maids bustled about, that Mr. Hartley was watching her quite openly. She raised an eyebrow at him in challenge, but he only quirked his own back at her. Was he flirting with her? Didn’t he know that she was far, far out of his reach?
    When the tea things had been settled, Emeline began to pour, her back so straight that she put even Tante to shame. “I am considering championing you, Miss Hartley.” She smiled to take the sting out of the words. “Perhaps you’ll tell me why you have—?”
    She was interrupted by a whirlwind. The sitting room door slammed against the wall,