felt a tiny spurt of triumph as he noted several tiny faint freckles, which she had dusted with rice powder to disguise. She might try to hide them from the world, but she would not hide them from him.
Mr Devenish felt a sharp of jolt of surprise as he caught himself on that possessive note. Good lord! What was he thinking of? She was a mystery to be investigated, that was all, and on his young nephew's behalf. He was here on business, no more. It was what he was good at.
If he wished to be rid of the constant drain of his nephew and sister-in-law on his time and purse, he'd best make certain that any heiress Norwood snapped up would be rich enough to bolster the family fortunes sufficiently. It was not merely his nephew's interests he was pursuing here, it was his own. Once Thomas was safely buckled to a fortune, his uncle would be free.
And this was the heiress Thomas had chosen; this creature of rose and vanilla, who parried his questions with artless simplicity and went out to ride at dawn.
An heiress with a lisp that came and went. A diamond heiress who never wore diamonds. A sheltered young innocent, chaperoned at all times —except when she was fighting off footpads alone at dawn. A girl who claimed to have beaten off robbers in Jaipur when she was fourteen. Who may well have stolen his tie-pin under the eyes of hundreds of London's finest. She looked barely seventeen now. But he'd wager Sultan she was a good deal older than she looked.
"How old are you?" he snapped.
She blinked and looked up at him in surprise. And beneath his sharp gaze her eyes turned from the clear depths of blue innocence, to glowing sapphires, glittering with mischief.
Mr Devenish frowned. He had never been drawn to sapphires. Untrustworthy stones. But he was drawn to her eyes, even when they weren't innocent and clear, but sparkling opaquely as they were now.
“I thought that was a question a gentleman never asked a lady," she murmured, releasing his hand.
He caught hers in his, refusing to break the contact. “Yes, but I am not a gentleman. Ask anyone. How old are you?"
Her eyes twinkled as she pretended to think for a moment. "I'm as old as my eyes, and a little bit older than my teeth. And you, sir?''
"I'm thirty-two," he said bluntly. And old enough to know he shouldn't be holding hands with a chit only just out in a place where anyone might walk by and see them. But he didn't let go of her hands. His thumbs moved back and forth across her skin.
Her hands were not as soft as those of most ladies of his acquaintance. There were faint callouses, and not just from riding. If he didn't know better, he would have suspected she'd had to do menial work at some time. Interesting that. He would have to find out why. Another mystery to unravel.
"Thirty-two," she said admiringly, quite as if he'd declared himself ninety-two. "That's quite old, isn't it? I suppose your children are almost grown by now." Her eyes danced, and he recalled her offer of a rusk the night before.
"I don't have any children," he said brusquely.
"I'm sorry," she said with quick remorse. "It was a thoughtless comment."
Confound the wench! She was a minx and a baggage and a mystery! One minute the lisping innocent, the next a cool-voiced little Amazon wielding a whip in her own defence. And now, this soft-eyed, soft-voiced woman, with the not-quite-soft-enough hands.
"I don't have any children because I have never been married."
"Oh." She appeared to consider the matter. "So you have sworn off marriage." She nodded understandingly. "Many men do not care for marriage, I know." She smiled at him and he caught a glimmer of mischief again. “They prefer their, er, male friendships."
Definitely this chit was no naive schoolgirl!
Innocent, but not naive. The unselfconscious way she had taken the hand she'd marked had convinced him that she was inexperienced in the ways of the flesh. Guilt, rather than flirtation, had been behind that action. She had touched him
Mr Devenish felt a sharp of jolt of surprise as he caught himself on that possessive note. Good lord! What was he thinking of? She was a mystery to be investigated, that was all, and on his young nephew's behalf. He was here on business, no more. It was what he was good at.
If he wished to be rid of the constant drain of his nephew and sister-in-law on his time and purse, he'd best make certain that any heiress Norwood snapped up would be rich enough to bolster the family fortunes sufficiently. It was not merely his nephew's interests he was pursuing here, it was his own. Once Thomas was safely buckled to a fortune, his uncle would be free.
And this was the heiress Thomas had chosen; this creature of rose and vanilla, who parried his questions with artless simplicity and went out to ride at dawn.
An heiress with a lisp that came and went. A diamond heiress who never wore diamonds. A sheltered young innocent, chaperoned at all times —except when she was fighting off footpads alone at dawn. A girl who claimed to have beaten off robbers in Jaipur when she was fourteen. Who may well have stolen his tie-pin under the eyes of hundreds of London's finest. She looked barely seventeen now. But he'd wager Sultan she was a good deal older than she looked.
"How old are you?" he snapped.
She blinked and looked up at him in surprise. And beneath his sharp gaze her eyes turned from the clear depths of blue innocence, to glowing sapphires, glittering with mischief.
Mr Devenish frowned. He had never been drawn to sapphires. Untrustworthy stones. But he was drawn to her eyes, even when they weren't innocent and clear, but sparkling opaquely as they were now.
“I thought that was a question a gentleman never asked a lady," she murmured, releasing his hand.
He caught hers in his, refusing to break the contact. “Yes, but I am not a gentleman. Ask anyone. How old are you?"
Her eyes twinkled as she pretended to think for a moment. "I'm as old as my eyes, and a little bit older than my teeth. And you, sir?''
"I'm thirty-two," he said bluntly. And old enough to know he shouldn't be holding hands with a chit only just out in a place where anyone might walk by and see them. But he didn't let go of her hands. His thumbs moved back and forth across her skin.
Her hands were not as soft as those of most ladies of his acquaintance. There were faint callouses, and not just from riding. If he didn't know better, he would have suspected she'd had to do menial work at some time. Interesting that. He would have to find out why. Another mystery to unravel.
"Thirty-two," she said admiringly, quite as if he'd declared himself ninety-two. "That's quite old, isn't it? I suppose your children are almost grown by now." Her eyes danced, and he recalled her offer of a rusk the night before.
"I don't have any children," he said brusquely.
"I'm sorry," she said with quick remorse. "It was a thoughtless comment."
Confound the wench! She was a minx and a baggage and a mystery! One minute the lisping innocent, the next a cool-voiced little Amazon wielding a whip in her own defence. And now, this soft-eyed, soft-voiced woman, with the not-quite-soft-enough hands.
"I don't have any children because I have never been married."
"Oh." She appeared to consider the matter. "So you have sworn off marriage." She nodded understandingly. "Many men do not care for marriage, I know." She smiled at him and he caught a glimmer of mischief again. “They prefer their, er, male friendships."
Definitely this chit was no naive schoolgirl!
Innocent, but not naive. The unselfconscious way she had taken the hand she'd marked had convinced him that she was inexperienced in the ways of the flesh. Guilt, rather than flirtation, had been behind that action. She had touched him
Similar Books
