Free The Primrose Path by Bárbara Metzger
Authors: Bárbara Metzger
dog. Lowering his voice, he ground out, “I shouldn’t have to ask, by all that’s holy! No one keeps a dog that runs away at the sound of a rifle. He’s useless!”
“Lady Sophie didn’t think so. Spooky sat by her chair all the time.” Angelina knew she was wasting her breath. “Oh, do come inside, my lord, before you take your death from the rain. I’m sure you’ll blame that on me, too.”
“Who else?” he muttered, but stepped through the doorway and wiped his muddy boots on the mat Penn had put there, for the dogs. Then he saw Miss Armstead. That is, then he actually looked at Miss Armstead.
One look at her and Lord Wyte would pack his little heiress back to London, if not India. The sanctimonious old sod would be sure Corin couldn’t resist making Lena his mistress. Hell, no man could resist. Seeing that artless elegance, the delicate blush, the perfect roundness, Corin wouldn’t be surprised if Lord Wyte wanted her for himself, what with his wife gone these past years. No man was monkish enough to look at Miss Armstead and not see Aphrodite.
Miss Armstead wasn’t beautiful, the viscount told himself; it was the change in her appearance that so stupefied him. He had to stop staring like a schoolboy who’d never seen a pretty girl before. He had to stop his heart from pounding loudly enough to send the little terriers into barking fits. First he had to run home to cancel his instructions about the new schoolteacher and doctor.
Only last night Corin had written to his man in London that he wanted energetic young fellows to fill the demanding positions. Now he wanted to hire foggy-eyed octogenarians. Married ones.
No, Corin realized. Getting the chit married off was the best solution to his problem, even if it wasn’t his favorite solution. Deuce take her, Miss Armstead would likely marry his hireling and move the blackguard into Primrose Cottage with her, just to spite Corin. He’d have to check with his solicitor to see if she could do so.
Then again, thinking of her as another man’s mistress didn’t sit much better. Some lucky chap would be able to take her upstairs, or take her right here in the morning room. There must be a rug without dog hair on it somewhere in Primrose Cottage.
Confound it, the jade was all prettified to entertain a gentleman at Corin’s cottage! That was the outside of enough, when she was looking at him like something that crawled out from under a rock. Most likely he smelled that way, too, after searching for Spooky half the day.
Corin had to get a hold of himself. The woman was no enchantress; she was a nuisance sent to plague him for all his sins. So what if she had cherubic curls and tempting curves, milky white skin and swanlike grace? She had no business being here, and he had no business lusting after her.
Now that he had his head convinced that his aunt’s bothersome companion wasn’t worthy of his regard, his lordship could work on convincing his body. It was easier to turn away, to stare out the window.
What he saw outside could dampen any man’s ardor. Dogs. And more dogs. “By all that’s holy, isn’t there one of the mangy beasts that I can take home?”
Angelina joined him at the window. “None of the animals you’re looking at. They are working dogs, not used to being indoors, for the most part. And they don’t have mange. What about Pug?”
Corin hated pugs.He loved lilacs, which was what she smelled of, drat the distraction. “What about that good-looking collie? I’ve always admired their intelligence.”
“That’s Gemma, Ti Wingate’s dog. Ti is one of your tenant farmers.”
“I do know the names of my tenants, Miss Armstead. I am not an absentee landlord.”
Angelina raised one eyebrow, but did not comment. “Gemma is retired now, of course.”
“What do you mean, retired? Not even Aunt Sophie would give dogs pensions.”
“No, but she’d give them a loving home when they got too old to work. Gemma developed a
“Lady Sophie didn’t think so. Spooky sat by her chair all the time.” Angelina knew she was wasting her breath. “Oh, do come inside, my lord, before you take your death from the rain. I’m sure you’ll blame that on me, too.”
“Who else?” he muttered, but stepped through the doorway and wiped his muddy boots on the mat Penn had put there, for the dogs. Then he saw Miss Armstead. That is, then he actually looked at Miss Armstead.
One look at her and Lord Wyte would pack his little heiress back to London, if not India. The sanctimonious old sod would be sure Corin couldn’t resist making Lena his mistress. Hell, no man could resist. Seeing that artless elegance, the delicate blush, the perfect roundness, Corin wouldn’t be surprised if Lord Wyte wanted her for himself, what with his wife gone these past years. No man was monkish enough to look at Miss Armstead and not see Aphrodite.
Miss Armstead wasn’t beautiful, the viscount told himself; it was the change in her appearance that so stupefied him. He had to stop staring like a schoolboy who’d never seen a pretty girl before. He had to stop his heart from pounding loudly enough to send the little terriers into barking fits. First he had to run home to cancel his instructions about the new schoolteacher and doctor.
Only last night Corin had written to his man in London that he wanted energetic young fellows to fill the demanding positions. Now he wanted to hire foggy-eyed octogenarians. Married ones.
No, Corin realized. Getting the chit married off was the best solution to his problem, even if it wasn’t his favorite solution. Deuce take her, Miss Armstead would likely marry his hireling and move the blackguard into Primrose Cottage with her, just to spite Corin. He’d have to check with his solicitor to see if she could do so.
Then again, thinking of her as another man’s mistress didn’t sit much better. Some lucky chap would be able to take her upstairs, or take her right here in the morning room. There must be a rug without dog hair on it somewhere in Primrose Cottage.
Confound it, the jade was all prettified to entertain a gentleman at Corin’s cottage! That was the outside of enough, when she was looking at him like something that crawled out from under a rock. Most likely he smelled that way, too, after searching for Spooky half the day.
Corin had to get a hold of himself. The woman was no enchantress; she was a nuisance sent to plague him for all his sins. So what if she had cherubic curls and tempting curves, milky white skin and swanlike grace? She had no business being here, and he had no business lusting after her.
Now that he had his head convinced that his aunt’s bothersome companion wasn’t worthy of his regard, his lordship could work on convincing his body. It was easier to turn away, to stare out the window.
What he saw outside could dampen any man’s ardor. Dogs. And more dogs. “By all that’s holy, isn’t there one of the mangy beasts that I can take home?”
Angelina joined him at the window. “None of the animals you’re looking at. They are working dogs, not used to being indoors, for the most part. And they don’t have mange. What about Pug?”
Corin hated pugs.He loved lilacs, which was what she smelled of, drat the distraction. “What about that good-looking collie? I’ve always admired their intelligence.”
“That’s Gemma, Ti Wingate’s dog. Ti is one of your tenant farmers.”
“I do know the names of my tenants, Miss Armstead. I am not an absentee landlord.”
Angelina raised one eyebrow, but did not comment. “Gemma is retired now, of course.”
“What do you mean, retired? Not even Aunt Sophie would give dogs pensions.”
“No, but she’d give them a loving home when they got too old to work. Gemma developed a