The Bride (The Wedding Series) - By Christine Dorsey Page 0,6

of royal purple with butterfly bows that held back the skirt’s train. The tiara circling her upswept curls shimmered with diamonds and emeralds. “It will not hurt to show Sir Alfred how well you wear a crown,” her mother said when she stopped by Eleanor’s room to oversee her daughter’s toilette.

Eleanor’s remark that Sir Alfred was far removed from the throne only earned her a sharp look and warning not to spill anything. “And do try to sit as much as possible tonight so Sir Alfred won’t notice your height,” Matilda said as she marched from the bedroom.

Settling onto one of the Louis IX chairs was something Eleanor did now though sitting had nothing to do with Sir Alfred. As she tried to take a few deep breaths, she realized she didn’t even know if he was in the drawing room... nor did she care.

John Bonner, on the other hand, she could describe down to the crooked smile he gave her. And she’d only glanced his way once. Which was part of the reason she jolted when he spoke to her. She hadn’t noticed him move.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” John sat on one of the dainty little chairs facing Eleanor, hoping he wouldn’t break it. It was bad enough that the color had drained from Eleanor’s face when she saw him, and that his greeting had startled her speechless. Not to mention the way she ran away from him last night. It was obvious he wasn’t handling this correctly... no matter how many times he read the etiquette books. He just didn’t have the patience to wait as he should. He’d been in Newport four days and already he felt the strong pull to return to Montana. If he could simply get this wedding business over with quickly—

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Eleanor blundered out, then felt a flush spread up from her high-collared gown. It wasn’t at all proper to question a guest’s appearance.

But Mr. Bonner didn’t appear to take offense. He merely shrugged. “Your father invited me.”

“I see.” Which of course, she didn’t. Father never bothered with any social affairs outside of the Newport Reading Room, which everyone knew wasn’t a reading room at all, but a gentleman’s club, and his passion for yachting. All the rest was her mother’s domain. And she ruled with an iron hand. “Well, I’m very glad you could join us this evening,” Eleanor said, hoping the sentiment made up for her previous lack of manners.

“Are you?”

Was he always going to surprise her so? She was merely being polite, anyone would know that and not press the issue. Anyone other than John Bonner it appeared.

“Of course I am.” With a flick of her wrist, Eleanor spread her fan.

“I thought perhaps you weren’t from your expression when you entered the room.”

“That’s... not true.” The fan fluttered, stirring the pale blond curls that had escaped Eleanor’s fanciful hairstyle. She wished he wouldn’t look at her so boldly or ask questions that he didn’t want to know the answer to. Yet she couldn’t deny being drawn to him.

He merely shrugged the powerful shoulders that even the expensive cut of his evening coat couldn’t camouflage. He was much larger than any man in the room, or any man of her acquaintance for that matter. Tall and strong-looking, with muscles that didn’t appear to come from rowing or trimming the sail on a yacht. And just sitting beside him made Eleanor feel small... almost dainty. Which was ridiculous.

What should he say now? John searched his mind for a suitable topic. He never had a problem communicating with women. At least he hadn’t since he was fourteen and one of his mother’s business associates took him under her wing. But then the desired result of his conversations had never before been marriage. Hell, the desired result had rarely been anything beyond a few hours of shared time between the sheets.

Which wasn’t what he was after this time. Though John had to admit as he watched the pulse beat at the side of her neck that he wasn’t at all averse to the idea. No, he wasn’t averse to it at all.

But wouldn’t Miss Eleanor Fiske go running off to her mama if she knew how he wondered if her skin was as soft and porcelain white on her stomach as on her cheek. Or what her long legs would feel like wrapped around his hips. Purposely changing the train of his thoughts else she somehow read