My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3) by Julie Johnstone Page B

wasn’t just that Sophia swore he was a social climber, either; there was a predatory gleam in his eye for which Jemma didn’t care.
    Jemma faced Lord Glenmore and tried to determine how to get rid of him. She gave a little cough. “I’m awfully thirsty.” She’d slip away when he went to get her a refreshment.
    He snapped his fingers at a footman a few feet away who was carrying around a tray of ratafia, and when the footman came near, Lord Glenmore snagged a glass and thrust it at her. “Here.”
    “Thank you,” she mumbled as he waved the footman away.
    Lord Glenmore flicked his blond hair out of his eyes, then made no pretense of sliding his gaze down her body and back up. When his eyes met hers, the tiniest line appeared as he narrowed them, and the gleam came back. He pressed his thin lips together for a moment. “My father tells me your father was a commoner and that makes you a commoner, duke’s granddaughter or not.”
    Jemma lifted her chin. This was the first time since coming to London that someone had openly disdained her origins, and it stung, which made her angry for caring. “It’s no secret my father was not a lord.”
    Lord Glenmore nodded. “I have to admit when Father demanded I return from my Grand Tour to court you, I was not pleased, large dowry or not, but I’ve heard whispers about you tonight that you don’t heed the English rules of etiquette, and I like that.” He ran a finger down her bare arm, and the feel of his flesh against hers made her skin crawl. “I can see the fire in your eyes. You’re no English rose. You are a wild American flower, and I’m a wild gentleman. I bet you have a hefty appetite.”
    “I eat like a bird, actually,” she snapped, fuming that her grandfather would tie her to this disgusting man without so much as blinking an eyelash.
    “Come”—Lord Glenmore’s voice had taken on a slick, slimy tone—“we both know I’m not speaking of food.”
    The heat of anger flushed her chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    He leaned closer, too close for them to have just met but not so close as to call attention to his actions. He was clever. She’d have to be cleverer. His smell, an unpleasant, sickly sweet odor, surrounded her. “I require an obedient wife in all ways,” he murmured.
    She had to force herself to unclench her jaw to speak. “Then I’m afraid, Lord Glenmore, you’d not be happy with me as your wife.”
    “Make no mistake, I plan to tame you before I marry you. But don’t fret. You can be as wild as you wish when it is just you and me.”
    Jemma felt her lips part in shock, and when Lord Glenmore smirked, she understood he’d wanted to astound her. Her heart pounded so viciously her chest hurt.
    “Give me your dance card,” he demanded in a cold voice.
    She drew her wrist, with the blank card attached to it, close to her. “I’m so sorry, but all my dances are already taken.”
    His eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”
    “Only a fool would call a lady as beautiful as Miss Adair a liar,” a smooth, deep voice said from behind her.
    Jemma whirled around and gawked at the sight of Lord Harthorne, dressed in black evening attire, right down to the dark cravat that matched his amused gaze. He filled his coat out very well. Very well, indeed. How had she missed before this moment how broad his shoulders were and how wide and solid the expanse of his chest?
    Embarrassed at her thoughts, she yanked her focus upward. He smiled, and it lit his face, and to her astonishment, her skin not only prickled but her heart raced. Then he turned his eyes toward Lord Glenmore, and Lord Harthorne’s gaze turned frigid, as if a winter blizzard had chilled him from the inside out.
    “Glenmore, since I know personally you are a fool, I’m not surprised at your asinine behavior.”
    “Is that any way to speak to a friend?” Lord Glenmore said in a sarcastic tone.
    “No,” Lord Harthorne said in a deadpan voice. “And that