The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell(5)

A gusty breath expelled from her lungs, and she rotated her shoulders, working the tightness out of them. Her heart still thumped and arousal teased her flesh. She snorted, disgusted with herself. At the first sign of a pretty face, her resolve, hardened by painful experiences, had cracked.

The man unsettled her. She stalked toward the bookshelf with anger in her step. She let her fingers fly with nimble speed over the titles until she found a copy of The Portrait of a Lady. She swallowed and dropped her forehead onto the cool wood of the bookshelf. She was lying to herself, and she hated that. She prided herself on being forthright with her thoughts and actions.

Lord Anthony was certainly not the only attractive man she had encountered since her launch into London society. Lord Orwell, the slimy blackguard, had a pleasant face that hid his vulgar crudity. Then there was Lord Hoyt, the handsome viscount who pursued her relentlessly, more for her fortune than anything else. Yet, Lord Anthony had been the only one to cause her protective wall to tremble.

A ripple in the crowd had alerted her to his presence when he first approached her, and she had assessed him out of curiosity. She’d deduced from the whispers that swept through the room, that he had not been expected to make an appearance. And he was a Thornton, a member of the scandalous house of Calydon. He was one of them—a privileged lord—brother to one of the most powerful dukes in the realm. She supposed that should have told her everything.

It certainly explained his arrogance in kissing her within minutes of their first introduction.

She was used to beautiful men. But she hated that simply from his prowl across the room, she had felt that low tug, that slow pooling of heat between her legs, with an intensity she’d never felt before. He was powerfully built, and even though she was tall in comparison to the dainty beauties of London society, she had felt dwarfed as he loomed over her in their dance.

He seemed darkly delicious, though it confounded her why. After all, his locks were golden, his eyes green, and his face the most stunningly handsome she had ever beheld. She had been greatly relieved to see the scar above his eye, branding him as human, after all, and not some fallen angel. Beauty alone had never attracted her, but he appealed to a degree she found staggering.

The doorknob rattled, and she snapped her head up. She tensed as she waited for someone to intrude. She hated attending these events, but her mother, her dear sister, Payton, and her aunt, the Countess of Merryweather, lived for the social whirl. Phillipa could hardly protest, not wishing to reveal the depth of her dislike for Orwell. Thankfully, the year was drawing to a close, so they only attended a few balls. The majority of the haute monde had already retired to the country.

She hurried to the door and latched it when no one entered, then sauntered to the sofa closest to the fireplace. She threw herself, without any semblance of ladylike decorum, into its depth, smirking at the simple indulgence of not sitting like a priggish miss.

Unbidden, her mind skipped to Lord Anthony. Thoughts of his lips and how good they’d felt on hers had her grinding her teeth. Oh, how she had wanted to sink into the kiss and accept the pleasure that he could give! A swift feeling of shame arose and she ruthlessly buried the heat that tried to flush her cheeks, ensconcing it under the coldness she used to protect herself.

It would be a grave mistake to trust another nobleman.

An unwanted shimmer of excitement pulsed through her, and her heart thumped in dismay at the thought of ever encountering him again. He roused feelings in her that she did not want to indulge in. Her mind shifted to Lord Orwell and her mouth turned down in distaste. The lecherous bastard. For all she knew, Lord Anthony was just like Orwell.

She gave a snort of repugnance as she snapped open James’s masterpiece, refusing to waste another moment thinking about a certain green-eyed lord.





Chapter Two


Two days later, the cold country air stung Anthony’s lungs, but did not prevent him from enjoying his morning ride with the beautiful Lady Jocelyn. He’d stopped off at his newly acquired Baybrook property, as had become his habit of the last few weeks, on his way to Sherring Cross, his brother, the Duke of Calydon’s ancestral estate. Apparently a letter had arrived for him from their solicitor, which Sebastian wished to discuss.

Anthony had welcomed the distraction. For an endless day and two long nights the intriguing Miss Phillipa Peppiwell had been haunting his thoughts and heating his dreams. He had specifically decided on this morning’s detour…a valiant attempt to put her from his mind.

It wasn’t working.

A gray mare thundered past him. Raven tresses and joyous laughter from Lady Jocelyn rode the wind, charming him with the lady’s fiery, yet pleasing disposition. Unlike a certain ice maiden he could name.