A Well Pleasured Lady Read Online Free PDF Page A

door,” she replied.
    â€œThey will now.” Lord Whitfield put his hand on his heart. “I fear, Miss Fairchild, I must offer my condolences. Your grandfather, the marquess of Smithwick, last year passed from this earth to another, better place.”
    I hope they kindle the fire hotter just for him.
    Mary’s memory of Fairchild Manor consisted of nothing but shame, incredulity, and a deep, biting anger at the man with malice-filled eyes. His long finger had pointed the way to the door, and when she hadn’t believed his indifference, he’d had her thrown out.
    â€œHas the lecherous old villain gone at last? Good riddance, I say,” Lady Valéry exclaimed, echoing Mary’s thoughts.
    Mary had kept secret the memory of the tall, sophisticated man who’d called himself her cousin. When her grandfather had disappeared back into his study, he’d stopped the eviction process and flung ahandful of money at her. That money had been her nest egg. It had taken her and Hadden as far as Scotland when the time had come to flee.
    â€œSuch a lack of charity,” Sebastian chided Lady Valéry. “But yes, the old marquess is dead, and his son has inherited the title, the entailed lands—and damned little else.”
    â€œWasn’t there money?” Lady Valéry asked. “I cannot believe there was not! There was always so much, and after your father—”
    â€œThere was money,” Sebastian said smoothly, “but for reasons only Lord Smithwick understood, he chose not to leave it to his son.” He hesitated as if he wished to say more.
    Mary could contain herself no longer. “It is most peculiar I had heard nothing about his death.”
    What did Lord Whitfield see when he looked at her? The anger, the resentment, the bitter scorn she felt for all the Fairchilds? The family consisted of four great-uncles, brothers of her grandfather, and Bubb Fairchild, her father’s brother and the new marquess. None of them had tried to help her when she’d taken custody of her brother. None of them cared for anything but their own worthless hides.
    Sebastian spoke with exaggerated patience. “You live in the wilds of Scotland. The Fairchilds live in the south of England. You’ve changed your name and your appearance—”
    She jumped. “My appearance? What makes you say that?”
    He swept her with a look. “I never saw a Fairchildwho looked anything less than gorgeous, and you look like a housekeeper.”
    Thank you, kind sir. But she didn’t say it.
    And in truth, she was relieved he meant nothing more.
    â€œMost important, the new marquess hasn’t been seeking you,” Sebastian said. “Why should he? Bubb Fairchild was frightened of his father in life, and indignant at his death. How will he maintain the family without the blunt to do so?”
    â€œDo you suspect him of having the diary?”
    â€œOf course. I suspect every Fairchild.” Sebastian squeezed the arm of his chair as if he could squeeze the life from the polished wood. “Ah, Miss Fairchild, wouldn’t you like to see your uncle squirm?”
    The trouble was, she would. She would like to see all the Fairchilds squirm. Yet she snapped, “You mistake indifference for interest.”
    â€œMary!” Lady Valéry sounded appalled, but she watched as if diverted by the byplay. “If you don’t wish to do this, say so, but don’t compromise your dignity.”
    Whitfield took his godmother’s hand. He kissed the freckled knuckles and murmured, “Hush, dear. I’ll handle this. I promised I would.”
    Lady Valéry tilted her head, watching her godson as if he were a charming scamp rather than a pitiless savage, and Mary did see how he might have fooled his godmother. He represented the symbol of sincerity in a carefully-wrought French painting. His eyesglowed. His lips smiled, not in amusement, but to coax a