Free A Most Unusual Match by Sara Mitchell Page A

monocle. “Neither, sir, do you. I was asked a direct question. I answered honestly. If my sense of right and wrong differs from yours, perhaps the matter would best be addressed someplace other than a dinner party.”
    Cynthia Gorman clapped her hands. “One for you, Miss Pickford. Geoffrey, stop needling her. Besides, if I recall my distant childhood catechism, God Himself does not approve of gambling, which is why I only indulge once or twice a year.”
    Mr. Fane emitted a loud groan. “Cynthia, dear, must we introduce religion? Almost as taboo as politics, is it not?”
    â€œYou started it, dear. And controversy certainly livens things up a bit. Don’t you get tired of trivial gossip, Edgar?” She made a moue, shrugged her shoulders. “Of course, none of it matters to me.”
    â€œAh. Trivial gossip.” Still smiling, Edgar turned to Thea.
    â€œShe wounds me with words, Miss Pickford, though she’s one of my oldest friends. Tell me, since you seem to be fearless as well as honest, do you think God will strike me dead because I’m one of those who enjoys gambling large sums of money I haven’t earned?”

Chapter Ten
    T he clinking of glasses and the scrape of cutlery against china stilled. Once again all gazes fastened onto Thea, including the sideways flash of sympathy from a waiter removing her plate. “If you prefer honesty,” she returned, picking her way through a mine shaft of volatile responses, “I’d have to say I agree with Mrs. Gorman about God’s view of gambling. I can’t quote a precise verse of scripture. On the other hand, I do recall a verse where Jesus instructs His disciples to ‘ Judge not, that ye not be judged .’”
    â€œTold you she was one of those reformers.”
    â€œShh!” someone hissed, then added, “Let her be. Noose is already around her neck….”
    â€œJesus ate with sinners, didn’t He?” A greyhound-thin woman sitting opposite Thea leaned over the table. “You think you’re being Jesus, Miss Pickford, surrounded by so many evil people? Got to warn us about our wicked ways?”
    â€œThat’s enough!” Edgar Fane half rose. “Miss Pickford is my guest.”
    Thea shivered a little at the possessive tone but managed a reassuring smile. “It’s all right, Mr. Fane. Truly. I’m not offended. I’ve attended many dinner parties wherethe conversations broke every social rule in the book, and frankly, found them stimulating.”
    Mr. Fane sank back down into his chair. “Stimulating?” He shook his head, laughed. “You’re…quite the lady, aren’t you?” His hand came down over hers and briefly squeezed.
    Quick as a terrified mouse who just realized the tickly feeling was a tom cat’s whiskers, Thea whipped her hand away and thrust it out of sight beneath the table. For a moment the room shifted off balance…or was she tipping sideways?
    For some reason an image of Devlin Stone popped into her head, auburn-tipped brown hair windblown over his forehead, lake-colored eyes intent as he washed her hands with a gentleness she’d never experienced from a man. “I was reared to be a lady,” she murmured. “As for faith, I haven’t talked much about God or Jesus with anyone lately. I haven’t made up my mind what to think, until now.” She lifted a stubborn chin and faced them all. “Now I see that most people, whether they call themselves Christian or heathen, are quick to judge, and slow to understand opposing viewpoints. I have compelling personal reasons that govern my views on gambling, but I ask forgiveness for any offense I caused in stating them.”
    â€œDessert, miss?” the waiter’s voice inquired at her elbow.
    Startled, Thea glanced up. His face was expressionless, but admiration briefly lit his eyes. “Thank you,” she said. The icy ball in