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Sherbrooke Twins (Sherbrooke Brides 8)

Page 25

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“Er, were they all nice to you?”

“Oh yes. I practiced answers to every sort of question. You know, spontaneous answers. And you know what, James?”

“What?”

“They used nearly all of them.” She frowned a moment. “I think the favorite question was about the weather.”

“Well, that’s normal, I suppose. It is nice and warm, worthy to comment upon.”

She looked over his left shoulder.

“What’s the matter? What did they do besides ask you your opinion on the weather?”

“Well, it wasn’t all of them, but you see, ever since I’ve unsmashed my bosom and lowered my neckline-well, really, it was Madame Jourdan who wouldn’t tolerate your father’s criticism about my neckline-” she rose on her tiptoes and whispered near his ear, “they’ve been looking.”

“This is something that surprises and astounds you? I’d like to know why any female on this earth could possibly be surprised at that.”

“It surprised me at first, I’ll admit it. Then I realized that I really liked them looking at me. I figure that if they’re actually focused on my parts then it’s obvious I don’t look like such a country bumpkin. But you know, James, I never realized that males found that particular part of the female’s anatomy so mesmerizing.”

If you only knew, he thought. The music started up again and James said, “Are you ready to gallop?”

She laughed until her eyes were tearing.

Along the side of the dance floor, Thomas Crowley, the younger son of Sir Edmund Crowley, one of Wellington’s cronies, said to Jason, “Who is that lovely girl James is dancing with?”

“You know,” Jason said slowly, “I’ve been wondering that myself. Perhaps it’s someone from his mysterious past.”

“James doesn’t have a mysterious past,” said Tom. “Neither do we.”

Jason poked him in the shoulder. “I’ve been thinking that it’s time to start making one.”

Since Jason had told him about the threat on his father’s life, Tom said, “You’re already on your way. Blessed Lord, who’s that? Good God, what a beauty.”

Jason turned to look

where Tom was pointing. He smiled, that lazy confident smile that seemed to make ladies from the ages of ten to eighty perk right up whenever he came within fifty feet.

Jason said slowly, in that easy voice of his, “You know, Tom, maybe I don’t need anymore mystery right now.” Thomas saw Jason draw a bead on the dark-haired girl who was peeking at him over the top of her fan, and stride off in a very straight line toward her, paying no attention at all to the score of young ladies, and not-so-young ladies, who tried to put themselves in his path. He didn’t mow any of them down, but it was close.

Tom shook his head and took himself off to where his mother was holding court. He tried to slink behind a palm tree when he realized she was in animated conversation with three dowagers with unmarried daughters.

“Tom! Do come here, my boy.”

He’d been well and fairly caught. He drew a deep breath and went to his doom.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JASON SHERBROOKE GRINNED from ear to ear. His worry about his father shifted to the back of his brain. This female looked charming, and the good Lord knew he hadn’t been this charmed by a female since he was fifteen years old and seduced by Bea O’Rourke, a clever young widow from St. Ives who’d been visiting New Romney and liked his smile and his lovely, very busy, hands, she’d told him while she nibbled on his ear.

This girl had dark, dark eyes, alight with intelligence and humor. Then she snapped her furled fan and those lovely eyes disappeared. He saw shiny black hair drawn back from a white forehead. He’d swear she could be Bea’s daughter. But Bea didn’t have any daughters, just two sons who were both in the king’s navy, she told him when he’d last been with her in early August.

He looked about for her mother or her chaperone and found himself staring into the bony face of Lady Arbuckle, known for her lack of humor and her tedious piety. This charming young creature with the wicked eyes was a relative of Lady Arbuckle’s? No, that couldn’t be possible. But Lady Arbuckle did look like the dragon guarding the treasure.

“Lady Arbuckle,” he said, turning on all the charm he’d learned from his Uncle Ryder over the years. “Observe your uncle,” his father had said to him and James. “He can coax the wart off a lady’s chin. If you find it inconvenient to use brute force, you might consider charm to gain what you want.”

“My goodness, is it you, James?”

“No, I’m Jason, ma’am.”



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