Read Wedding Night Revenge for Free Online Page B

knowing something was the same: she wasn't entirely indifferent to him.
    Under cover of a laughing conversation with his stepbrother, he leisurely repositioned himself so he could discreetly study her. His eyes skimmed her sylph-like silhouette, sheathed in opalescent blue silk. Was she presenting him with her best side? he wryly wondered, as his eyes lingered on her perfect profile. Her golden ringlets looked artfully arranged, the column of her long neck beneath the burnished coils of hair resembled flawless alabaster. Quite a goddess, he reflected ironically, then winced. It was too much truth for comfort. Earlier this week he'd seen her at close quarters and he'd not managed to stop thinking of her since. Grudgingly, he'd had to admit to himself that, even though approaching twenty-six, she was certainly as lovely as she ever had been. Now she was on her feet, with her figure properly displayed, she was revealed to be as alluring and desirable as the nineteen- year old temptress who'd enslaved him. If anything, her shape looked lusciously fuller.
    And God knew she had tempted him, behaving like a novice Jezebel while he had behaved like a eunuch, who also acquiesced to act blind, deaf and dumb. He'd not been unaware six years ago that the bold teasing glances from her big blue eyes were not exclusively his privilege. Louche gallants who preyed on and pandered to the vanity of responsive females had been similarly enticed by his beloved. Those gentlemen had relished seeing him suffer in silence whilst his future wife playfully acted the coquette and treated him like a risible fool.
    He was cognisant with beau monde etiquette: a lady—especially one whose reputation was protected by a formal relationship—was permitted to have her circle of admirers. He knew, too, that a display of jealousy by a partner was seen as unnecessary and vulgar. Even so, there had been times when polite society mores putiiis teeth on edge, when his patience and endurance had been strained to the limit. On one particular occasion at Vauxhall Gardens, Rachel's blatant flirting with a dandified fop he was known to detest had engendered such mischievous gossip as couldn't be ignored. He'd been on the point of dragging her into the nearest thicket, to teach her a lesson in prudent behaviour around aroused men, when she'd smiled at him as though no one else mattered.
    So he'd let her be, even though knowing there was little more implied than that she'd mastered the art of defusing his ire and keeping him tame. He had been in love with her, and curbing his temper, his male needs and acting in the way he thought she'd wanted had become second nature. How wrong he'd been. She hadn't ever wanted him at all. For her, it had all been some sort of childish game she had decided to play on her terms...only her terms, or he paid a forfeit.
    Of their own volition his eyes were straying to her body again. He watched her sense his scrutiny, become flustered beneath his roving eyes. She half-turned towards him as though she might challenge his covert observation with a steely glare. Instead, she put a hand to her face; it cupped a rosy cheek, then fussed at her hair before she deliberately presented him with her graceful back.
    A very sardonic smile slanted his sensual lips; the provocative little madam with come-hither eyes was gone. Perhaps in the interim a man with a shorter fuse than he had treated her to a much-needed lesson in modesty and respectful behaviour. He'd heard she'd aborted other betrothals over the years and now was considered on the shelf; not primarily because of her age, for her inheritance was a tempting lure, but because she was branded a heartless tease who might make ridiculous any man who dared approach her.
    She certainly exuded an air of tranquil detachment in her frost-blue gown and, though he couldn't compare them now her back was turned, he knew the shade matched her large, icy eyes.

    Since the moment he'd caught sight of her looking