Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Rosamunde.
He gulped as their gazes locked. God damn it! She wore a gown of pale purple muslin that hugged those endless curves he had fantasies about both awake and asleep.
Perhaps I know now why her family insists on dressing her in those shapeless sacks. She would devastate the male population showcasing her curves as she is doing.
Keely looped her arm in Rosamunde’s as she introduced her around. In his seat, Bryn watched her from below lowered lids. Noticing every damn nuance that slipped across her full features.
And he also watched every person she was introduced to, making sure no one said anything disrespectful to her. He shouldn’t have worried, this was his family and they were a loud and crazy bunch but they wouldn’t be impolite to a guest.
Isabella rested a hand on his forearm. “You’re growling,” she whispered as she leaned closer to him. “Are you okay?”
He looked at his younger cousin. How he had viewed her forever. She looked so much like her Aunt Fyre. Who was her now mother as they had been taken in by Phillip and Fyre after their parents had been murdered.
“I will be.”
Bryn tuned into the conversations flowing around the table, paying the most attention to the one across the table to his left where Rosamunde sat chatting easily with Keely and Delicia, Fyre’s biological daughter.
For once there was no strain in her expression and he took heart, loving how his family had welcomed her.
“You like her.”
He swallowed before shooting Isabella a glare. All she did was laugh, tucking a thick black curl behind her ear. Baring his teeth at her, he snapped them only to lift his gaze and find Rosamunde glancing across the table at him, her green eyes taking in how little space there was between him and Isabella.
Her slight grin lacked the warmth her smiles had earlier and he missed it. Fuck, he had it bad. Lifting his glass, he toasted her, loving the pink that scampered up her cheeks seconds prior to her glancing away and engaging back in her conversation.
While he approved of her being comfortable enough with those gathered, there was a part—a large part—of him that was jealous. That it wasn’t him getting her focus, her laughter, her gaze.
Dinner over, the group moved into the sitting room where drinks were poured and games were set up. This was far better than any house party he’d ever attended. Mostly because he loved all the people here and there was no need for any pretense he gave a fuck about them or their lives. Like he would have to if it were any other house party.
Meeting shamrock-green eyes across the room, he winked and grinned as Rosamunde rolled hers at him in return and turned to speak with Elonne. Bryn ignored the flash of jealousy that slammed him at her dismissal.
I have to get used to her speaking to others. She’s engaged to someone else, and I’m trying to set her up with another man.
Fuck!
Chapter Thirteen
Rosamunde rolled over in the large bed, completely warm and cozy. Outside the wind slammed into the window but for the first time in longer than she could remember, she had no rush to get up from the luxury she would love to get used to.
Seconds later, guilt smashed into her. She shouldn’t be enjoying this. Her family wasn’t comfortable like this. They were in a cold house, scraping by.
“No, I’m not family. As they so love to remind me, I’m nothing more than a means to an end.” She sat up, the heavy comforter around her breasts as she gazed about the darkened room.
Unsure of the time, she knew it was still pre-dawn. The snow and wind continued to smack against the window, however unlike in her childhood home, she wasn’t shivering under the blankets. A soft glow came from the fireplace, informing her there were some embers there that just needed to be coaxed up a bit.
After taking care of that herself, she held her hands out to the flames and sighed. Perhaps this weekend was the exact thing she’d needed. Cleaning herself up quickly, she smoothed her hand down a new day dress and cracked open the door to her room.
Darkness met her but she didn’t care. She’d made a mental note of the steps between her room and the stairs—a habit brought on by the house she’d grown up in, especially on the days when she’d bolted from her room trying to escape her sisters. Counting had been her way to ensure she didn’t stumble down the staircase. As she made it down to the first floor, a maid walked up to her.
“Good morning, Miss Fletcher.”
“Morning.”
“If you’d like to break your fast, we have food ready.”
Her stomach growled and she flushed, pressing her hand over her belly. The maid merely gestured up the hall. Her mind raced with a million and one thoughts, most of which circled around why they had food ready at this hour.