Free To Love a Scoundrel (Zebra Historical Romance) by Kristina Cook Page B

entirely the opposite is true. I thought ...
I thought you realized that"
    She shivered and stepped away from him. "I ... I
don't know what you mean."
    "Simply that I'm not of your ilk, Eleanor Ashton. You
deserve far better than me. As soon as I saw you, standing there in your garden, I knew you were far too good
for the likes of me"
    Her eyes widened a fraction, but she said nothing.
    "Come now," he said jestingly. "Don't protest too
heartily."
    "I ... Truly, I don't know what to say," she murmured, and he heaved a sigh of relief.
    "That it's the truth, of course. You've accurately
sketched my character, and I've no apologies for it. I
enjoy women, take pleasure in my conquests. I drink too
much, live too dangerously. My reputation is well-earned. My father thought that perhaps my marrying would rein
in my ... excesses. I, of course, assumed that I would
simply take a wife and continue to live my life as I
wished to live it-doing whatever I please. I had no
reason to object when my father suggested you as my
prospective bride, and it's actually a compliment to you
that, once I became reacquainted with you, I realized you
did not deserve such a lot in life as that" Bloody hell,
he'd never felt so emasculated, so damned vulnerable as
he did at that moment, confessing the truth to her. Yet, the
unshed tears that shone in her indigo eyes told him that
he had been right to tell her.

    "Anyway," he continued on, "a leopard cannot change
its spots, and I've no desire to do so. You don't have to
approve of the way I live my life, but I do wish we could
call a truce. I've enough to worry myself right now with
Maria and her predicament. Truthfully, I could use a
friend, not another enemy. I've enough of those as it is"
    "Very well," she said, her voice soft, full of caution.
"A truce, then."
    As soon as the words left her lips, his heart felt immeasurably lighter. No, he truly did not deserve her. She
was a starburst of light-bright, passionate, full of life
and spirit. If they were to marry, he would surely extinguish that light.
    "Friends?" he asked, holding out a hand to her.
    "Friends," she answered with a nod, offering her hand
and allowing him to raise it to his lips.
    He brushed a kiss across her knuckles and felt her
shudder in response. Damn, but she really was lovely. It
was too bad she was such an innocent, because he knew
with a surprising certainty that he would enjoy her in his
bed, warm and naked beneath him.
    Bloody hell, enough with the gentlemanlike behavior. He could only be a kind, sensitive soul for so long. Still clasping her hand, he met her gaze and grinned
wickedly. "And as my friend, you'll surely forgive any
attempts I make to get you ... how did you so delicately
phrase it? Ali, yes, on your back, that was it. You'll forgive any attempts I make to get you on your back before
our journey is through, won't you?"

    Her eyes began to flash, and she jerked her hand from
his grasp. "You're incorrigible," she snapped. With that,
she turned and stomped off through the grass, back
toward the coach.
    "As I said," he called out toward her retreating form,
"a leopard cannot change its spots"
    He heard her huff indignantly, and all he could do
was smile.

     

Chapter 7
    Eleanor reached for Lord Henley's hand and alighted
from the coach with a weary smile. The journey to Devonshire had been long and arduous, and she'd never
been so glad to reach a destination as she was at that
very moment.
    As she stepped down onto the gravel drive, she
glanced up at George Whitby's home with appreciation.
Whitby Hall, they called it. It was lovely, just as Selina
had said it would be-a white-columned Greek revival
structure surrounded by a lush, gently rolling park that
stretched all the way to the sea. Eleanor inhaled the
crisp scent of the sea as terns circled lazily overhead,
calling to one another as they glided through the clear
skies.
    Returning her attention to Whitby's home,