Free A Summer to Remember by Mary Balogh

a moment.
    But winning his wager had become an appealing as well as a necessary challenge, Kit realized before going in pursuit. She was prim and proper and apparently without even a glimmering of a sense of humor. At the same time she was hauntingly beautiful, and she was not immune to a challenge. Certainly she did not allow her relatives to rule her. And she had shown some intelligence as well as spirit in spurning his deliberately blatant flatteries in the park. What would such a lady be like in bed? he wondered suddenly. It was an intriguing thought.
    He needed to see her again. For the sake of his wager. For his chance to go to Alvesley on his own terms. And for the personal challenge of somehow penetrating that cool, ladylike façade—if there was anything beyond the façade to penetrate to, that was. There might well not be.
     
    The roses had wilted after a few days. But one bud was still pressed between several heavy volumes a footman had carried up to Lauren’s sitting room from the library below. It was too perfect to be allowed to die and be forgotten, she had told herself.
    She had refused all further invitations to
ton
events after the Mannering ball and the drive in the park. She had gone shopping and walking for exercise. She had read several books from both the duke’s collection and Hookham’s subscription library. She had worked diligently at her embroidery and at her tatting. She had written almost daily letters to Gwendoline and Aunt Clara, Gwen’s mother. She had even written one to Lily and had the duke enclose it with his daily missive—Lily was his daughter. If there was a certain boredom in her days, a certain restlessness—well, that was a lady’s lot in life.
    But on this particular evening she was riding in the Earl of Sutton’s town carriage with the earl and Wilma. They were on their way to the theater at the invitation of Lord Farrington to watch a performance of Shakespeare’s
King Lear
. Viscount Ravensberg was to be a member of the party.
    “You must sit between Sutton and me when we arrive, Lauren,” Wilma instructed, not for the first time, as the carriage drew up behind a couple of others close to the theater doors.
    Wilma had been vociferous in her determination not to accept her invitation, and she had had a firm ally in her betrothed. But a couple of weeks ago Lauren had discovered a hitherto unsuspected side to herself—a stubborn disinclination to have her activities ordered for her by others, however well meaning. All her life she had behaved the way she believed a lady ought to behave. And look where it had got her. She had informed Wilma that she was accepting her own invitation even though she had never met Lord Farrington. She was still not sure what she would have done if Wilma had not considered it her duty to accompany her with Lord Sutton.
    The carriage inched forward and a doorman opened the door and let down the steps. A gentleman stepped forward from the throng about the theater doors and reached up a helping hand.
    “Miss Edgeworth?” Viscount Ravensberg said. “Allow me.”
    He looked incredibly dashing and handsome in his swinging black opera cloak and silk hat. Lauren set a hand in his even as Wilma and Lord Sutton murmured ineffectual protests.
    “Thank you, my lord.” She stepped down to the pavement.
    “A violet cloak,” he said, “with a matching gown beneath. But the shade is paler than your eyes this time—and less lustrous. I have missed you. I have looked for you everywhere and not seen you. I had to descend to this stratagem.” He led her through the crowded foyer of the theater toward the staircase up to the boxes.
    “Why?” she asked.
    He countered with another question. “Why did you accept?”
    “Perhaps,” she said, “because I admire the work of Mr. Shakespeare.”
    He chuckled.
    “Lauren,” Wilma called from behind them, “do remember to sit between Sutton and me. I need you to tell me what is happening on stage. I am