A Lady’s Secret Read Online Free PDF Page B

my mother is French and spoke French to her children. Your mother was English?”
    “No.”
    “Your father?
    Petra hesitated, then said, “Yes.”
    “He spoke English to you?”
    “No.”
    “Alas, he died when you were young?”
    Petra knew then that she shouldn’t have gone in this direction. “He left.”
    “I see. Your mother?”
    “Died recently.”
    “My condolences.” He seemed to mean it. “Is that why you became a nun?”
    “I’ve been in the convent for some years now.”
    He hadn’t expected that and didn’t welcome it. She saw no hint of peevishness, however. By Saint Peter, she was beginning to like him, and that was truly dangerous.
    “How old are you?” he asked, but then rain rattled sharply against her window. She turned, and he exclaimed, “Plague take it!”
    Lost in their competitive conversation, they’d missed the change in the weather. Dark, heavy clouds roiled toward them, and sudden lightning flared. Too soon afterward, a crackling roll of thunder shook the air. The carriage jerked as the horses reacted and then sped up.
    The little dog yelped and burrowed beneath Mr. Bonchurch’s coat. Petra wished she could do the same. She hated lightning, and the storm was on her side of the carriage. Another spear of lightning lit the inside of the coach with unnatural white light, making her flinch away from the window up against him. Instead of protecting her, he thrust the trembling dog into her hands, then let down his window to call out to his rider racing along on that side. “Is there any shelter nearby, Powick?”
    “Not in sight, sir!” the man yelled back, hunched against the slashing rain, his horse wild-eyed.
    Petra covered the quivering bundle of bones and fur in the skirt of her habit, murmuring reassurances she wished she could believe.
    “Any idea how far we’ve traveled?” Bonchurch was asking.
    “Perhaps five miles, sir.”
    He closed the window and swept wet hair off his face—but spared a moment to glance down and smile. Petra realized her bare legs were exposed up to the knee.
    “Well?” she asked sharply.
    “Exceedingly well.” But then he returned to business. “Too far to go back. Too far from the next town.” He dug a slim book out of his coat pocket and opened it to consult a road map and guide.
    He was a reprehensible rake, but there was nothing indolent or idle about him now. Given the situation, Petra was glad of it. But dog or not, she’d been right to think him dangerous. He wouldn’t be easy to handle or easy to get rid of.
    Wanting to cover her legs again, she pulled her Saint Veronica cloth off her belt and bundled the dog in that, holding it close to murmur, “Out of the pan but into the fire, Coquette. Both you and me. But I won’t let you burn.”

Chapter 3
    R obin was cursing himself upside and down. He’d known there was danger of a storm, but he’d slid into games and lost track of the situation. Even Coquette had tried to warn him. Now they were exposed in open countryside with the thunderstorm almost on top of them. If the chaise was struck, it could go up in flames.
    Then the full force of the rain hit like a drenching sheet, blinding the view through the windows, drumming on the carriage roof. In minutes the road would be mud; not long after, a quagmire. They could be literally stuck. If they survived the storm, they could still be locked in place overnight.
    He stabbed his fingers at the map. “Nouvion’s the next stage,” he shouted over the noise. “We’ll try for that, but watch out of your window for any kind of shelter.”
    She looked as terrified as poor Coquette. At least the dog was swaddled, but nothing could protect it from the noise.
    He let down the window again to shout his orders, commanding all speed. The chaise lurched ahead, but then slid violently sideways. Sister Immaculata bounced into him. Robin caught her. Even though he instantly released her, a jolt that could be lightning of a different sort shot