Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2) by Melynda Beth Andrews Page A
Authors: Melynda Beth Andrews
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behavior. What are you missing?”
What had just happened? She had to think! She fought for control of her frenzied feelings, pacing the floor of her bedchamber like a caged tigress. He had complimented her, smiled at her, touched her hand, given her his mother's ring ... and kissed her.
Gently, insistently, hungrily.
But what man was capable of kissing a woman dispassionately? His ... enthusiasm did not mean he was passionate about her —just passionate.
She thought about the past week, about the flowers he'd given her, the smiles, the dozens of small kindnesses he'd shown her. They'd increased in number as the week had worn on. Could it be that he'd come to care for her? She didn't know. Logic told her there was no way to be certain of his feelings.
But she ought to be certain of hers.
Did she care for him? There was much to admire about the Viscount Trowbridge. He was intelligent and clever. He was a loving guardian to his nieces, a fair and respectful master to the servants, and a tolerant host to Ophelia—who would try anyone's hospitality! He had an engaging way about him and a delightful sense of humor. He'd been attentive and amiable all week. And surely he hadn't felt obligated to listen to her read the entire text of The Faerie Queene in one afternoon. He'd wanted to spend time with her. Hadn't he?
“Oh ... saints and sinners!” she murmured. She did care for him! Was he The One? Was he the man she was destined to marry?
That kiss hadn't been a lesson, a taming, a strategy, or anything like that. It had been a conquest. No, she amended. Truesdale was a gentleman, and gentlemen were not conquerors. His kiss had not been a conquest, but a ... an exploration.
But why explore her ? Was she such a mystery? Such a treasure to search for and covet?
No . She was not.
Her racing mind came to a sudden halt. She was far from a treasure. She was no Diamond. She was a colorless spinster who still smelled of starch, while he was a much-admired and dashingly handsome viscount. Ophelia had warned her that their female house guests, unmarried or not, would be vying for his attention. Apparently, he was a much sought-after parti among the untitled ladies of the ton . Surely, an intelligent, handsome, amiable and titled man like Truesdale could have his choice of any of them! Marianna was plain as toast, and she knew it. Why should Truesdale choose her ?
The answer lay in simple logic: he wouldn't.
He didn't desire her. He’d been acting a part during that kiss, or perhaps she'd just made up the whole idea. Yes, that was probably it. Ophelia was right: Marianna did believe in silly fairy stories. She did believe in one-true-love, and just for a moment—for one insane moment—she'd believed that perhaps Truesdale Sinclair was The One.
She sighed and went through the ritual of getting ready for bed, and then she lay down, but all night long, in spite of all her careful, controlled logic, in spite of her resolve to abandon her impractical, fantastical fairy stories, the moment she'd thought she'd glimpsed genuine desire in his eyes kept coming back to her, and she wondered: was there any chance he really cared for her? Was there any chance at all that he really was the one? The one man she was destined to love?
She slept hardly at all.
Morning came. She dressed in one of her new gowns—the aqua. It was his favorite, he'd said when the gowns had all arrived. She'd thought to save it for when her parents came, but she couldn’t resist. Bells in heaven , she wanted to impress him! Dressing her hair in a rather careless twist with a matching aqua ribbon, she allowed some of her curls to frame her face. He had remarked that he preferred she give her hair some freedom. Checking at her reflection in the long, cheval glass, her eyes lit upon the ruby betrothal ring she wore. She brought her hand up and stared at it a moment, cradling the ring and wondering what it would feel like if she were really betrothed. She would
What had just happened? She had to think! She fought for control of her frenzied feelings, pacing the floor of her bedchamber like a caged tigress. He had complimented her, smiled at her, touched her hand, given her his mother's ring ... and kissed her.
Gently, insistently, hungrily.
But what man was capable of kissing a woman dispassionately? His ... enthusiasm did not mean he was passionate about her —just passionate.
She thought about the past week, about the flowers he'd given her, the smiles, the dozens of small kindnesses he'd shown her. They'd increased in number as the week had worn on. Could it be that he'd come to care for her? She didn't know. Logic told her there was no way to be certain of his feelings.
But she ought to be certain of hers.
Did she care for him? There was much to admire about the Viscount Trowbridge. He was intelligent and clever. He was a loving guardian to his nieces, a fair and respectful master to the servants, and a tolerant host to Ophelia—who would try anyone's hospitality! He had an engaging way about him and a delightful sense of humor. He'd been attentive and amiable all week. And surely he hadn't felt obligated to listen to her read the entire text of The Faerie Queene in one afternoon. He'd wanted to spend time with her. Hadn't he?
“Oh ... saints and sinners!” she murmured. She did care for him! Was he The One? Was he the man she was destined to marry?
That kiss hadn't been a lesson, a taming, a strategy, or anything like that. It had been a conquest. No, she amended. Truesdale was a gentleman, and gentlemen were not conquerors. His kiss had not been a conquest, but a ... an exploration.
But why explore her ? Was she such a mystery? Such a treasure to search for and covet?
No . She was not.
Her racing mind came to a sudden halt. She was far from a treasure. She was no Diamond. She was a colorless spinster who still smelled of starch, while he was a much-admired and dashingly handsome viscount. Ophelia had warned her that their female house guests, unmarried or not, would be vying for his attention. Apparently, he was a much sought-after parti among the untitled ladies of the ton . Surely, an intelligent, handsome, amiable and titled man like Truesdale could have his choice of any of them! Marianna was plain as toast, and she knew it. Why should Truesdale choose her ?
The answer lay in simple logic: he wouldn't.
He didn't desire her. He’d been acting a part during that kiss, or perhaps she'd just made up the whole idea. Yes, that was probably it. Ophelia was right: Marianna did believe in silly fairy stories. She did believe in one-true-love, and just for a moment—for one insane moment—she'd believed that perhaps Truesdale Sinclair was The One.
She sighed and went through the ritual of getting ready for bed, and then she lay down, but all night long, in spite of all her careful, controlled logic, in spite of her resolve to abandon her impractical, fantastical fairy stories, the moment she'd thought she'd glimpsed genuine desire in his eyes kept coming back to her, and she wondered: was there any chance he really cared for her? Was there any chance at all that he really was the one? The one man she was destined to love?
She slept hardly at all.
Morning came. She dressed in one of her new gowns—the aqua. It was his favorite, he'd said when the gowns had all arrived. She'd thought to save it for when her parents came, but she couldn’t resist. Bells in heaven , she wanted to impress him! Dressing her hair in a rather careless twist with a matching aqua ribbon, she allowed some of her curls to frame her face. He had remarked that he preferred she give her hair some freedom. Checking at her reflection in the long, cheval glass, her eyes lit upon the ruby betrothal ring she wore. She brought her hand up and stared at it a moment, cradling the ring and wondering what it would feel like if she were really betrothed. She would
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