"McNaught, Judith - Westmoreland 01 - Whitney, My Love" - читать интересную книгу автора (McNaught Judith)

Whitney pulled her gaze from Nicolas DuVille's ruggedly chiseled face and glanced around at the young dandies in their bright satin waistcoats. They were staring at Nicki in open irritation, and no wonder! Nicki's impeccably tailored midnight Mack attire, his air of smooth urbanity, made them all seem somewhat overdressed and rather callow.

"Are they still staring?" Nicki teased.

Whitney bit her lip, trying to hold back the laughter that was already sparkling in her eyes as she looked up into Us handsome face. "Yes, but I can't really blame them-you an rather like a hawk in a room full of canaries."

A slow, admiring smile swept across his features. "I am indeed," he breathed softly. And then he said, "You have an enchanting smile, cherie."

Whitney was thinking that he was the one possessed of a wonderful smile, when it vanished behind a dark frown. "Is-is something wrong?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied bluntly. "Do not let a man you aren't betrothed to call you 'cherie.'"

"I will stare them out of countenance if they dare!" Whitney promptly promised.

"Much better," he applauded, and then boldly, "... cherie."

At the conclusion of the waltz, he guided her back to her aunt, keeping his head bent toward her as if he were positively hanging on her every word. He waited there, rarely taking his eyes off of her as she danced in turn with each of his three friends.

Whitney felt a little giddy and reckless and wonderful. Already there were a gratifying number of gentlemen asking for introductions to her. She knew it was because of the extravagant and unprecedented attention she was receiving from Nicolas DuVille and his friends, but she was too relieved and grateful to care.

Claude Delacroix, a handsome, fair-haired man who had come with Nicolas, instantly discovered that Whitney loved horses, and the two of them had a thoroughly enjoyable disagreement about the merits of one breed over another. He even asked if she would care to go for a drive with him one day soon, which was certainly not at Nicki's prompting.

Whitney felt very pleased and flattered, and she was smiling as he returned her to her aunt.

Nicki, however, was not pleased, nor was he smiling, when he immediately claimed her for the next dance. "Claude Delacroix," he informed her curtly as his arm encircled her, "is from a fine old family. He is an outstanding whip, an excellent gambler, and a good friend. He is not, however, a suitable companion for you, nor should you think of him as a possible suitor. In matters of the heart, Claude is an expert, but he loses interest very quickly, and then ..."

"He breaks the lady's heart?" Whitney guessed with mock solemnity.

"Exactly," Nick said severely.

Whitney knew her heart already belonged to Paul, and so it was not in any danger. With a soft smile, she said, "I shall guard my heart with great care."

Nicki's gaze lingered on her soft, inviting lips, then lifted to her glowing jade eyes. "Perhaps," he breathed with a tinge of self-mockery that Whitney couldn't understand, "I ought to warn Claude to guard his heart. If you were older, Mademoiselle, I think I would."

When Nicki returned her to her aunt, there were more than a dozen gentlemen, all eager for a dance with her and waiting to claim it. Nicki detained her with a hand on her arm, and nodded toward the young man at the end of the line. "Andre Rousseau," he said, "would make an excellent husband for you."

Whitney gave him a look of laughing exasperation. "You really shouldn't say things like that."

"I know." He grinned. "Now, am I forgiven for my rudeness yesterday?"

Whitney nodded happily. "I would say that I have just been 'launched' as beautifully as one of England's ships."

Nicki's smile was filled with warmth as he raised her fingers to his lips. "Bon voyage, cherie," he said.

And then he was gone.

Whitney was still thinking about the night before and smiling softly to herself as she descended the stairs the following morning, intending to ride her uncle's spirited mare. Masculine voices drifted into the hallway from the drawing room, and as Whitney started to walk past, Aunt Anne appeared in the doorway, her face wreathed in a smile. "I was just coming up to get you," she whispered. "You have callers."

"Callers?" Whitney repeated, panicking. It was one thing to mouth the usual prescribed platitudes during the dancing last night, another thing entirely to charm and interest these gentlemen who had now exerted themselves to pay a morning call on her. "Whatever shall I say to them?" Whitney begged. "What shall I do?"