Read Samantha James for Free Online Page A

you even bothered, for I rather suspect you dislike children.”
    He stiffened. “You’re mistaken,” he said curtly.
    “Am I?” His reaction but confirmed it. “I did not imagine your distaste in holding Jack last night?”
    He stepped back. The movement dislodged her grip on his elbow.
    “My dear Lady Anne, you are correct in your earlier assessment. You do not know me. Butif it is an apology you seek, I shall endeavor to give it. I apologize.”
    His delivery was clipped and abrupt, almost staccato-like. Anne was more shocked than hurt. She could not help it. Her jaw fell open.
    “And now,” he concluded with a tight smile, “I shall rid you of my presence and bid you good day. That should please you, will it not? Or perhaps you wish my escort home?”
    Anne was too stunned to say a word.
    “No? I thought not.” A stiff bow, and he strode away.
    Anne stared after him, still openmouthed…and suddenly fuming mad.
    The man was no more than she presumed, no less than she expected. He was detestable. Disagreeable. Unbearable. She could think of a dozen other ways to describe him, none of them particularly flattering.
    Her pleasure in her walk had vanished. She proceeded home. The door slammed as she stepped inside, her skirts whipping as she turned toward the drawing room.
    Caro had just descended the stairs. “Well,” her cousin observed mildly, “you’re in a bit of a tizzy today.”
    Anne yanked at the ties of her bonnet. “It’s him. That dreadful man.”
    Caro paused on the last step. “Oh, my. Dare I ask who this man is? Or are you having secret assignations without my knowledge?”
    “If I were having secret assignations, it would not be with Simon Blackwell!”
    A hint of a smile flirted at Caro’s lips. “Ah,” she said.
    “Do not look like that,” Anne said crossly. “Caro, this is not amusing!”
    “Dearest, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you so passionate about any other man.”
    “Passionate is hardly the word I would use. He is a most crusty man, Caro. So much so that I wonder he does not splinter into pieces. I vow that should I ever see him again, I shall tell him so.”
    “Hmmm. That may happen sooner than you think, dearest. Though I would advise you to bite your tongue, considering that he will be a guest in your mother’s home.”
    “Never tell me you have invited him to dinner again!”
    “No. But your mother has.”
    Anne nearly shrieked. “What?…When?…Why?”
    “The Dowager Countess of Hopewell’s birthday fete will be held here instead of Lady Creswell’s. She’s fallen ill, I’m afraid. And your mother insisted on hosting it.” Caro paused. “And Annie—”
    “What, there’s more?”
    “No. But do you know what I think?”
    Anne didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.“I suspect you’re about to tell me. Indeed, I know it.”
    “You say he’s stuffy. Crusty. But there’s something almost sad about him.” Caro hesitated. “Annie, I know you may not agree, but I think he’s lonely. John thought so as well.”
    Caro was right. She didn’t agree. “Well, if he is, I do not wonder why,” she muttered.
    “Annie,” Caro chided, “it isn’t like you to be mean-spirited. As the countess’s nephew, of course he will be present. And Aunt Viv is so excited about hosting the fete. You know this is her first entertainment since coming out of mourning.”
    And that was what held Anne silent. Caro was right. Before her father’s illness, her mother loved nothing more than to entertain. And Anne would never—ever—do anything to deprive her mother of her pleasures, or dampen her happiness in any way.
    She could not cry off. Very well then. For her mother’s sake, she would welcome Simon Blackwell. For her mother’s sake, she would be gracious, and pretend her dislike of him did not exist. No one, save Caro—and the man himself!—would know otherwise.
    Yet again, it seemed she must endure his presence. There was simply no help for it.

Four
    It’s