no equal in the real world.
But then this man, this truly ineligible man, had scowled at her, made fun of her, barely even tolerated her…and suddenly she was interested, intrigued and eager even for his insults.
Perhaps she was one of those terribly shallow persons who wanted only what they could not or should not have. That was a lowering thought…
Chelsea mentally shook herself back to the moment—as she really didn’t wish to pursue the thought she washaving—and steered the conversation back to the bizarre revelation that the marchioness had been Beau’s aunt. She’d avoid thinking about the other relationship that followed, that the marchioness had been sister to the marquess’s mistress.
“Shall we return to the subject of your recently deceased aunt? We seem to be constantly sidetracked, which tells me perhaps this isn’t as logical as you would like me to believe.”
He took her hand in his, companionably—or at least that was what she told herself. “Let’s see, where shall I begin? Ah, I have it. Once upon a time—”
“If you refuse to be serious…” She attempted to tug her hand free, with no success.
“I am being serious,” he protested. “Or as serious as any of us gets, I suppose. All right, stop frowning. Once upon a—sorry. Over thirty years ago my mother, Adelaide by name, by the way, was the unhappy daughter of the local squire. She had one father, one mother and one sibling, the aforementioned Abigail. They all lived together quite unhappily in a tumbledown manor house about five miles distant from Blackthorn. One day, a handsome young man rode up the lane on his snow-white charger and—you’re squeezing my hand rather hard, Chelsea.”
“Be happy I’m not banging you about the head and shoulders with my reticule. I said I wanted to hear the story. Not a fairy tale.”
“I’m telling it the way it was told to me, by my mother, and innumerable times, so that I’ve committedmost of it to memory. Almost romantic, rather than seedy and strange. May I continue?”
Chelsea struggled to control herself. The man was enjoying himself entirely too much and all at her expense. “Please.”
“Thank you. Now, where was I?”
“The snow-white charger.”
“Ah, yes. The limping snow-white charger, which is why the handsome young man had stopped at all, hoping for some assistance with his injured mount. He got as far as the small stables when he encountered a lovely young thing, ethereally beautiful. Waiflike, delicate, almost as if she belonged in the heavens or some other celestial sphere. In a word, she was exactly like something out of a fairy tale. She came running toward him, not because of the sight of his handsome self, but because the fair maiden was dismayed to see the injured steed.”
Chelsea nodded. “Your mother.”
“My aunt. Close on Abigail’s heels, however, was my mother, yes. And where the younger sister was a delicate sprite of a thing, the older sister was clearly the one who saw the danger, pulling her sibling back just in time from being stomped on, as the startled white charger had reared up at the sound of said younger sister’s cries of dismay.”
He turned to smile at Chelsea. “I think what my mother had been trying to say, without actually using the words, was that Abigail ran at the horse screeching like a banshee.”
“Probably,” she agreed, fascinated in spite of herself. “Then what happened?”
Beau crossed one long leg over the other and rested his hand on one strong buckskin-clad thigh, and as he was still clasping it, Chelsea’s hand, as well.
“As I said, the horse reared. The handsome yet hapless young man, dumbstruck—by the combined beauty of the two young ladies, of course—toppled off the white charger and lay, stunned, at their feet. One, my mother, immediately grabbed at the white charger’s bridle and kept the handsome young man safe, and the other, by deduction Abigail, promptly fainted across his prone
But then this man, this truly ineligible man, had scowled at her, made fun of her, barely even tolerated her…and suddenly she was interested, intrigued and eager even for his insults.
Perhaps she was one of those terribly shallow persons who wanted only what they could not or should not have. That was a lowering thought…
Chelsea mentally shook herself back to the moment—as she really didn’t wish to pursue the thought she washaving—and steered the conversation back to the bizarre revelation that the marchioness had been Beau’s aunt. She’d avoid thinking about the other relationship that followed, that the marchioness had been sister to the marquess’s mistress.
“Shall we return to the subject of your recently deceased aunt? We seem to be constantly sidetracked, which tells me perhaps this isn’t as logical as you would like me to believe.”
He took her hand in his, companionably—or at least that was what she told herself. “Let’s see, where shall I begin? Ah, I have it. Once upon a time—”
“If you refuse to be serious…” She attempted to tug her hand free, with no success.
“I am being serious,” he protested. “Or as serious as any of us gets, I suppose. All right, stop frowning. Once upon a—sorry. Over thirty years ago my mother, Adelaide by name, by the way, was the unhappy daughter of the local squire. She had one father, one mother and one sibling, the aforementioned Abigail. They all lived together quite unhappily in a tumbledown manor house about five miles distant from Blackthorn. One day, a handsome young man rode up the lane on his snow-white charger and—you’re squeezing my hand rather hard, Chelsea.”
“Be happy I’m not banging you about the head and shoulders with my reticule. I said I wanted to hear the story. Not a fairy tale.”
“I’m telling it the way it was told to me, by my mother, and innumerable times, so that I’ve committedmost of it to memory. Almost romantic, rather than seedy and strange. May I continue?”
Chelsea struggled to control herself. The man was enjoying himself entirely too much and all at her expense. “Please.”
“Thank you. Now, where was I?”
“The snow-white charger.”
“Ah, yes. The limping snow-white charger, which is why the handsome young man had stopped at all, hoping for some assistance with his injured mount. He got as far as the small stables when he encountered a lovely young thing, ethereally beautiful. Waiflike, delicate, almost as if she belonged in the heavens or some other celestial sphere. In a word, she was exactly like something out of a fairy tale. She came running toward him, not because of the sight of his handsome self, but because the fair maiden was dismayed to see the injured steed.”
Chelsea nodded. “Your mother.”
“My aunt. Close on Abigail’s heels, however, was my mother, yes. And where the younger sister was a delicate sprite of a thing, the older sister was clearly the one who saw the danger, pulling her sibling back just in time from being stomped on, as the startled white charger had reared up at the sound of said younger sister’s cries of dismay.”
He turned to smile at Chelsea. “I think what my mother had been trying to say, without actually using the words, was that Abigail ran at the horse screeching like a banshee.”
“Probably,” she agreed, fascinated in spite of herself. “Then what happened?”
Beau crossed one long leg over the other and rested his hand on one strong buckskin-clad thigh, and as he was still clasping it, Chelsea’s hand, as well.
“As I said, the horse reared. The handsome yet hapless young man, dumbstruck—by the combined beauty of the two young ladies, of course—toppled off the white charger and lay, stunned, at their feet. One, my mother, immediately grabbed at the white charger’s bridle and kept the handsome young man safe, and the other, by deduction Abigail, promptly fainted across his prone
Similar Books
