Blind Trust Read Online Free PDF

to the famous Statton mansion. She shuddered as she looked back at the sickly yellow light from her father’s parlor window. She turned her back on it again, swaying with what she’d heard; she couldn’t begin to make sense of it. Lies, of course. But that Claude would blackmail Edward with such lies!
    â€œMrs. Statton?” A form took shape out of the darkness. A hand rested on her arm, a strong hand that held her up with ease. “Forgive me. Your father pointed you out to me at the Academy of Music the other night. I was dining with him this evening. You seem poorly. Let me help you back up the stairs to him—”
    â€œNo!” Darcy tried to take a step backward. The stranger kept his hand on her arm to support her.
    â€œSurely you need to rest a moment—” He paused and looked at her more closely. She could see in the dull glow of the streetlamp that his light-colored eyes were concerned. Then the expression cleared as he understood. What else could he think, seeing her in this wild condition at her father’s house, afraid to see her husband. He knew. She felt his fingers tighten on her arm, but because she was too afraid now of what he knew, she did not withdraw it. He bowed, slightly. “Then allow me to escort you home, Mrs. Statton.”
    â€œThat’s not necessary.”
    â€œOh, but I believe it is. If you will not allow me to deliver you to your father, at least let me deliver you to your door. Please,” he said in a warm tone. “You can barely stand, Mrs. Statton.”
    Darcy could not make sense of her rushing thoughts. Better to let this man, she could not recall his name, see her home than to risk offending him. She was panting, thanks to her corset and her agitation, and she struggled to control her breathing. If the man chose to talk, she could find herself the topic of the town tomorrow morning. What choice did she have? She must appear normal, she must go with him.
    â€œThank you, sir.” She took his arm; actually, she was grateful for it, as her legs felt weak. His arm felt like iron underneath her gloved hand as they began to walk toward Fifth Avenue.
    â€œI realize this is not the regular thing to do,” the man said. “But I would like to introduce myself if I am to accompany you.” Darcy inclined her head, and he continued easily. “Tavish Finn, at your service, Mrs. Statton. We are a bit more informal out West, which is why I find I blunder a bit when I return East. I try not to return very often. Then when I do, I wonder how I could stay away. On a fine night such as this, for example. The snow … it softens things, doesn’t it? New York then reminds me of London, the city becomes so gray and stately. And New York has this vitality—some would say brutality—that’s bracing. Though I’m partial to a calm life, Mrs. Statton, New York does make the blood run quicker, and that can be invigorating. Though, of course, the wildest place I’ve been is the Central Park. Excepting Wall Street, of course.” He smiled.
    She opened her mouth to murmur a reply, one of the conventional responses she’d been murmuring since she’d been in long dresses, Yes, Mr. Finn or Do you say so, Mr. Finn , but he kept on his running commentary, in his slow, strangely accented voice, with its crisp, upper crust British consonants, the soft hint of the slurred vowels of the West, and that odd Irish lilt she was more accustomed to hearing from the maids who did the heavy work in the house. He hailed a cab immediately and helped her inside. He began to talk of the snow, and then the food in New York, and then the fishing prowess of his friend Jamie Alden, and it wasn’t boring in the least, it wasn’t the endless repetitions of the correct chatter she was used to, and it wasn’t as though he was talking to himself, with her only as a captive female audience. It was an oddly personal monologue, as