A Little Mischief Read Online Free PDF Page B

him and had not let him continue to intimidate her with his anger and condescension. If she hadn’t seen how gently he spoke to Gretchen, she would have thought him a monster incapable of kindness.
    Feeling chilled, Isabella hugged her arms to her chest. She picked up the untouched brandy and downed it all at once in a most unladylike fashion. It burned her lips, her mouth, her throat, and she winced as it settled like fire in her quaking stomach. Heat rose up her chest and neck to flame in her cheeks.
    “Sweet mercies.” She coughed and untied the ribbon under her bonnet as the warmth of the liquor settled low in her stomach.
    Auntie Pith had told her there were times a lady needed a little fortifying with a strong drink. If that were true, this must be one of those times. Isabella wasn’t sure she would last through another stretch of Lord Colebrooke’s interrogation.
    As she turned to place the empty glass on the table, she saw the earl standing in the doorway looking at her with unconcealed distrust.
    Even with the apparent anger in his strong features, she found there was something unusually compelling in the way he looked over her face. She watched his gaze glide down the length of her and back up again to center on her eyes. It was as if he were assessing her physical attributes as well as her sanity.
    And Isabella felt an unexpected shiver of awareness.
    Lord Colebrooke’s wide shoulders tapered to a flat stomach, slim hips and long powerful-looking legs encased in black breeches that disappeared into shiny top boots. He walked toward her with that commanding presence that had intimidated her earlier. Now she realized she no longer feared him at all. She was intrigued by his intense dislike for her.
    Amazed that she was no longer fearful of him, her self-confidence soared. Isabella relaxed and waited for the earl to speak.
    “Gretchen is clearly talking out of her head, Miss Winslowe, and I can’t make any sense of her words or yours. Tell me, what is this preposterous tale you and my sister have concocted?”
    “Concocted, indeed, sir. You sound as if you think I have nothing better to do with my time than go around and spit out stories.”
    “I’ll reserve my judgment on that until after I hear what you have to say for yourself.”
    Isabella ignored his accusation and simply said, “Very well, would you like the short version or the long one, my lord?”
    “Short.”
    Yes, she had a feeling he would pick that one.
    She looked up into his troubled eyes and, after taking a deep breath, she said, “Your sister says she struck a man and killed him. As we stand here wasting time, his body is lying in my back garden.”
    “Impossible,” he said coldly.
    “I assure you, it’s true. He was lying on the ground and Gretchen was standing over him with a statue of a cherub in her hand when I happened upon them.”
    Lord Colebrooke’s brow furrowed so deeply she didn’t know if it was caused by rage or disbelief.
    He took a step closer to her. “If there is a man, as you say, in your garden, are you sure he is dead?”
    “Yes.”
    “And how do you know that, Miss Winslowe?”
    “It was really quite chilling.” She folded her arms across her chest again as she remembered the way Mr. Throckmorten looked. “I shook him and tried to rouse some kind of response from him, but there was no life in him. I wanted to—”
    “Perhaps you should give me the long story—but quickly.”
    Under his bold gaze, she found the courage to say, “The time it takes me, sir, will depend on how many times you interrupt me.”
    “Talk, Miss Winslowe.”
    “Your arrogance knows no boundaries, my lord.”
    “You seem to be the one without boundaries, Miss Winslowe.”
    “Whatever have I said that made you come to that conclusion?”
    “As if this bizarre tale of yours and Gretchen’s isn’t reason enough?”
    Isabella would never get the story out if she continued to mince words with this unreasonable man. She skipped