Read Jacquie D'Alessandro for Free Online

harbored for his assistance evaporated. “I merely felt light-headed, my lord—”
    “Happy to hear you admit it.”
    “—and as such, it was hardly necessary for you to make so free with my attire.”
    “Ah. Then I suppose I shouldn’t have straightened your garters.”
    Her eyes goggled, and the ill-mannered lout had the audacity to wink at her.
    “I am teasing you, Miss Chilton-Grizedale. I merely wanted to bring some color back into your pale cheeks. I would not dream of touching your garters without your express permission. Probably.”
    Heat raced up her neck. This man was beyond insufferable—he was incorrigible. Uncouth. “I can assure you, you shall never receive such permission. And a gentleman would never say such a scandalous thing.”
    Again that dimple in his cheek flashed. “I’m certain you are correct.”
    Before she could fashion a reply, he rose. Crossing to a ceramic pitcher resting on the desk, he poured water into a crystal tumbler. He moved with lithe grace, and the knowledge that he’d untied and removed her bonnet, loosened her fichu, that his fingers had surely brushed over her throat, touched her hair, rushed heat through her—a fiery warmth that felt like something decidedly more than mere embarrassment.
    Returning to her, he handed her the glass. “Drink this.”
    She somehow resisted the urge to toss the contents into his face. The tepid liquid eased her dry throat, and she assimilated the fact that she’d swooned—for the first time in her life. He clearly thought her some weak-willed twit. In her eight and twenty years she’d suffered worse things, recovered from worse, without succumbing to such missish nonsense. But dear God, this situation was a disaster.
    Lady Sarah had abandoned Lord Greybourne at the altar—certainly a circumstance rife with scandal. But one made all the worse, from Meredith’s point of view, because the wedding in question—the most talked-about, anticipated wedding in years—was one Meredith hadarranged. And as much as she might wish it otherwise, every member of Society would remember that snippet of information. Remember it, and revile her because of it. Blame her for arranging such an unacceptable match, just as Lord Ravensly and Lord Hedington had done.
    All her grand plans for her future evaporated like a trail of steam escaping a teakettle. Her reputation, her respectability for which she’d fought so hard, worked so tirelessly to establish, teetered on the edge of extinction. And all because of him.
    Her gaze wandered around the room, and for the first time she realized that she and Lord Greybourne were alone. Just another facet of this debacle that could result in disaster. “Where are your father and Lord Hedington?”
    “They went to announce to the congregation that Lady Sarah had taken ill and therefore the wedding could not take place today.” He exhaled a long breath. “Isn’t it odd how two statements that are both true can still somehow be a lie?”
    “Not a lie,” Meredith said, hastily adjusting her fichu and straightening her dark blue skirts. “I prefer to call it an omission of certain pertinent facts.”
    He cocked his head and studied her. “A definition that sounds very much like that for ‘lie.’”
    “Not at all,” Meredith said briskly. “A lie is making false statements. ’Tis not a lie to simply not tell everything you know.”
    “Actually, I believe that is called a ‘lie of omission.’”
    “It appears you possess an overactive conscience, Lord Greybourne.” At least she could be grateful that he had a conscience—dusty relic though it most likely was.
    “More a case of liking my facts and definitions to be neatly aligned.”
    “Must be your scientific nature.”
    “Yes.” The low hum of muffled voices drifted into theroom. Lord Greybourne rose and walked to the window. His lips flattened. “People are leaving the church. Clearly the announcement has been made.” For several seconds he