A Dark and Brooding Gentleman Read Online Free PDF Page A

visiting Blackloch Hall for the next month and may be contacted here. And the letters and parcel I left with the receiving office.’
    ‘Good.’ Mrs Hunter gave a nod. ‘And how was the journey down?’
    ‘Fine, thank you,’ she lied and focused her attentionto stirring the sugar into her tea most vigorously so that she would not have to look at her employer.
    ‘The coach was not too crowded?’
    ‘Not at all. I was most fortunate.’ A vision of the highwaymen and of a dark and handsome man with eyes the colour of emerald ice chips swam into her head. The teaspoon overbalanced from her saucer and dropped to the flagstones below where it bounced and disappeared out of sight beneath her chair. Phoebe set her cup and saucer down on the table and knelt to retrieve the spoon.
    ‘I would have sent John with the coach, but I do not wish to be at Blackloch without my own carriage at my dispos—’ Mrs Hunter broke off as the drawing-room door opened and the movement of footsteps sounded. ‘Sebastian, my, but you honour me.’ To Phoebe’s surprise the lady’s tone was acidic.
    Phoebe felt a ripple of foreboding down her spine. She reached quickly for the teaspoon.
    ‘Mother, forgive my absence yesterday. I was delayed by matters in Glasgow.’ The man’s voice was deep and cool as spring water … and disturbingly familiar.
    Phoebe stilled, her fingers gripping the spoon’s handle for dear life. Her heart was thudding too fast.
    It could not be.
    It was not possible.
    Slowly she got to her feet and turned to face the wicked Mr Hunter. And there, standing only a few feet away across the room, was her dark handsome rescuer from the moor road.
    Hunter stared at the young auburn-haired woman he had left standing alone at the Kingswell Inn. Her cheekshad paled. Her lips had parted. Her warm tawny eyes stared wide. She looked every inch as shocked as he felt.
    He moved to his mother and touched his lips to her cool cheek. She suffered it as if he were a leper, shuddering slightly with distaste. So, nothing had changed after all. He wondered why the hell she was here at Blackloch.
    ‘Sebastian.’ His mother’s voice was cold, if polite for the sake of the woman’s presence. ‘This is my companion, Miss Allardyce. She came down on the late coach last night.’ Then to the woman, ‘Miss Allardyce, my
son,
Mr Hunter.’ He could hear the effort it took her to force the admission of their kinship.
    ‘Mr Hunter,’ the woman said in that same clear calm voice he would have recognised anywhere, and made her curtsy, yet he saw the small flare of concern in her eyes before she hid it.
    ‘Miss Allardyce.’ He inclined his head ever so slightly in the woman’s direction, and understood her worry given that it was now obvious she had palmed the money his mother had given her for her coach fare.
    She was wearing the same blue dress, although every speck of dust looked to have been brushed from it. The colour highlighted the red burnish to her hair, now scraped and tightly pinned in a neat coil at the nape of her neck. His gaze lingered briefly on her face, on the small straight nose and those dewy dusky pink lips that made him want to wet his own. And he remembered the soft feel of her pressed against him on the saddle, and the clean rose-touched scent of her, and the shock of a desire he had thought quelled for good. She was temptation personified. And she was everything proper and correct that a lady’s companion should be as sheresumed her seat and calmly waited for Hunter to spill her secret.
    Not that Hunter had any intention of doing so. After her experience with the highwaymen he doubted she would make the same mistake again. He watched as she set the teaspoon she was holding down upon the tray and lifted her cup and saucer.
    His mother’s tone was cool as she turned to her companion. ‘My son has not seen his mother in nine months, Miss Allardyce, and yet he cannot bring himself into my company. This is his first