An Ideal Duchess Read Online Free PDF Page A

and frowned at him. “Far be it for me to stand in the way of your obviously reckless regard for your own life.”
                  Bron narrowed his eyes at her, a memory tugging persistent at his gray matter. The memory of himself, moments before hurtling into a tree, came hurtling back at him and he sat up, damn his head.
                  “You shot me down!”
                  “I readily admit that one of our guns must have caused your accident, but there is no reason to blame me personally.”
                  “You’re right,” Bron said equably, determining it was best to divert her attention away from his aeroplane experiments.
                  “I am?”
                  He smiled briefly at her, realizing that the slight throbbing pain in his head wasn’t strong enough to keep him bound to this blasted bed—neither was the dizziness—and he made to rise from the bed again.
                  “You shouldn’t—” She had rushed over to touch him once more, only recoiling when she seemed to remember how familiar this was.
                  He extended his right hand to her and shrugged. “You might as well help me up. I shan’t stay up here, particularly since Bim is taking too long to order a pot of tea.”
                  Her grip was firm and strong, fingers warm even through the thin kidskin of her gloves, and he held his fractured arm against him, bracing himself for the impact of her body against his as he slid his arm around her shoulder. She came up to his chin and fit neatly into the crook of his arm, and Bron couldn’t resist bending his nose to her golden crown, softly inhaling her spicy-sweet scent before realizing how entirely inappropriate this was. As they slowly made their way around the bed and towards the door, he focused his mind on more mundane subjects such as tea, or that this would be no different from assistance given by a nurse or a sister or… Viola . Yes, Viola, he thought!  Good old Vi, he reassured himself.
                  As they made their way down the flight of stairs leading to the Great Hall, there came a clap of thunder followed by the flickering of Challoner House’s electric lighting and then sudden darkness. Bron paused in mid-step, his right hand instinctively tightening around her shoulder to halt her from continuing. He carefully completed his step, emitting a breath of relief that he hadn’t misjudged the mark and arrived downstairs courtesy of the air. Dr. Satterthwaite would no doubt have turned into a tower of fury at Bron’s disregard for his present injuries.
                  “Don’t move,” He ordered softly, releasing his hold on her shoulders and feeling gingerly for the wall with his right hand, pressed his hand against it then slid his fingers downward until they brushed against the balustrade.
                  “Bloody hell!” He heard Bim growl as something clattered on the ground. “I knew I should have tossed this rubbish when I had the chance. Is that you, Bron?”
                  “Yes, you ass,” He slowly ascended the last steps, having regained his bearing. “Why didn’t you bring any candles?”
                  “Don’t have any. Besides,” Bron flinched at the beam of light that shone abruptly in his eye. “I have this.”
                  This turned out to be an electric torch, which illuminated circular sections of the room as Bim flicked it across the Great Hall.
                  “I don’t suppose you have another one?” Their guest’s—what was her name?—voice wafted over Bron’s shoulder.
                  “I do,”
                  Bim’s torchlight danced back to her, and Bron saw him pass another unlit electric torch to her. She turned it on, and he flinched from yet another light beamed into his