Free Woo'd in Haste by Sabrina Darby Page A

looked to his younger sister as if for support but Clarissa Latham tsk ed.
    “This, dear brother, is where I must side with my own sex. Darcy is the epitome of manliness.”
    “But he’s a great bore. Wickham is far more fun,” their younger brother, Gavin, chimed in. “The author is simply moralizing and that as we all know is a bore, as well.”
    “Heresy,” Bianca decreed, even as she grinned. Unlike her conversations with her sister, the evening’s “disagreement” was all in fun. It hardly mattered what anyone said, there were no undertones of tension and deeper meaning to ruin the evening. Everything was light and fun, and she was having a wonderful time.
    A change of scene was good. Bianca hadn’t realized how much she needed it until the first morning she woke up at Featherley, well-rested after a long night’s sleep. The last time she had been away from home for more than a day had been five years ago when they’d all gone to Brighton.
    Distance was refreshing. Distance gave perspective. And at night, after a day spent shopping with Lottie all over town (her father had been exceedingly generous, in no small part due to his guilt, and she had for the first time unabashedly exploited that), distance meant a small soiree.
    Mr. Latham, he of the excellent stables from which her father was acquiring his new horses, and his wife had two sons and one daughter. All amiable, all exceedingly well-favored. They were horse-mad and lighthearted and the eldest son was a terrible flirt. Or a wonderful flirt, if one preferred to think of it that way. They’d invited their neighbors, and now there was to be dancing. The last time Bianca had danced had been ages ago.
    If only life could always be this way. With Luc it almost was, but there was tension there. A heavier undercurrent. A sense that she was living on borrowed time, doing something illicit. That if she let herself feel too deeply, it would only end in pain.
    Which was why she refused to think of him at all. And surely that meant she didn’t love him. That those confusing feelings were simply lust (the very thought of the word made her blush).
    But as she stepped out with Arthur onto the floor, newly cleared of the large carpet that usually graced the drawing room, when his hands touched her waist, she thought of another embrace, of Luc’s. Of his kisses and his scent. A wave of longing swept over her.
    Maybe she couldn’t brush him aside. What of it? Love?
    As she went through the steps of the reel, as she passed from one partner to the next and back again, her mind was far away, back in Watersham, on lazy summer mornings and afternoons, on stolen moments in empty corridors, on a smile that warmed her soul, that was for her alone.
    So what if he was no better than a servant? He was good and kind and yes, he had been forward, but how could she blame him? When one was passionate, propriety, class, indeed, even pride and prejudice , should all be no impediment.
    Although those thoughts were all very fine and democratic. In truth, despite her decision to no longer heed to her sister’s demands, Bianca was not entirely certain she was brave or bold enough to follow her heart’s desire in this matter. It was so very unwise. Lottie would caution her against it. Had cautioned her against Luc, in fact, although she could not have known of the burgeoning affair. Her mother would have warned her, too.
    She finished the dance with a much heavier heart than she had begun. Yes, yes, it was love. But no . . . no, it could not be.

 

C HAPTER N INE
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    A s they rattled up the drive, Bianca soaked in all the familiar details of her home. Hopford Manor was both haven and prison but at this moment she was happy to return. Eager to see Luc again, even if in just a few days more, Kate would be there, too.
    But the instant they descended from the carriage, she knew something had changed. Everything felt different. Sounded different. She strode across the drive to the