Free Lady Rosabella's Ruse by Ann Lethbridge Page A

received a blow to the solar plexus, Garth bent down for the lantern and strode for the house. The kiss had been good. Better than good, it had been perfect. All right, perhaps he should have been more subtle about asking her what she wanted, but she’d been the one spouting nonsense about romantic love. He wasn’t going to pretend he felt something he didn’t.
    He had felt something stir in his chest, though. A strong desire to possess as their bodies melded. She’d responded beautifully to his kiss. Even better than he’d anticipated. She’d kissed him like a courtesan and run off like a terrified virgin.
    Women. Every time you thought you understood them, they shied off in another start. Perhaps she thought she had him fooled with that innocent face, as if he was some green boy new on the town.
    A smile crossed his lips. Perhaps this was all part of her game. He’d encountered them all in his time, bold ones, shy ones and everything in between. Very few of them didn’t end up in his bed once he understood the direction of their carnal desires.
    This one would be no different. In the end. One thing he wouldn’t do was chase after her. He would give her time, let her decide her next move.
    He entered the house. There was no sign of Mrs Travenor, not even wet footprints. No doubt the sly little wretch had removed her shoes from the slender feet he’d noticed when she stood on the chair and deliberately teased him with glimpses of her ankles. Damn her.
    She’d probably spent most of her married life sneaking out of her husband’s house to meet some man or other. Another womanly trait. Lord knew, he’d had enough of them offer to slide out and meet him in his time, and seen their disappointment when he’d refused.
    Damn it to hell. Now he needed a brandy or he would never sleep. Because right now a certain part of his anatomy was expecting something it wasn’t going to get.
    He cursed low and with feeling.
    And then he recalled his other problem. Penelope.
    He strolled up the main staircase and along the corridor leading to his room.
    A burst of hope fired off in his chest at the sight of a figure lurking outside his door. Blast. The figure was male and was trying Penelope’s door.
    ‘Going somewhere, Bannerby?’ he drawled.
    The man shot upright. ‘God, man, don’t you ever sleep?’
    Garth smiled a nasty smile. ‘Not when there are profligates like you around.’
    Bannerby glanced at the door and back at Garth. ‘I was worried about her. I thought to ask her if her headache had improved.’
    ‘At four in the morning?’
    ‘Her maid wouldn’t let me in earlier.’
    Garth’s gut stirred with foreboding. ‘Did she make an assignation with you, through her maid?’
    The other man grinned. ‘Is that any of your business?’
    Damn the woman. Damn him for not keeping a closer watch on her. Damn him for being distracted by the thieving Mrs Travenor, actually, when he should have been doing something about Mark’s wife. He reached out and tried the door handle. The door remained firmly locked.
    A door further down the corridor opened. Modestly wrapped in a heavy robe, Mrs Travenor stepped into the passageway. ‘If you gentleman don’t mind, some of us are trying to sleep.’
    He almost laughed at her brazenness. He bowed instead. ‘Our apologies, Mrs Travenor.’
    Her gaze dropped to his hand still on the doorknob. ‘As I understand it, Lady Smythe is not receiving at the moment. She is unwell.’
    He wanted to curse. Instead he glared at his companion ‘That is also my understanding. Is it yours, Bannerby?’
    The man shot him a glare and strode off down the corridor.
    The light from the candle in the wall sconce caught the expression on Mrs Travenor’s face. Chagrin? She must have thought he and Bannerby were arguing over Lady Smythe.
    He felt the urge to explain. Good God, he never explained himself to a female. Clearly, he was going to have to take swift action to get this one woman out of his