Dawn Thompson Read Online Free PDF

stripped off his clothes, streaked through the air, and hit the ground running on the pads of a huge gray wolf. At least, not in front of the servants. Bates was the only one that knew. Bates knew
everything
. How the butler had managed to keep it from his wife was a mystery.
    Inspiration struck. Did the faithful butler know what he did not? Had the answer been right there under hisnose all the while? A ray of hope. He would wait until the present dilemma was resolved, and then have a nice long talk with Bates. The butler wasn’t getting any younger, and if he did know something, he wasn’t going to take it to his grave if Joss Hyde-White had anything to say about it.
    Dawn was still a ways off, and the sharp edges of those rambling distractions finally dulled. Could no one keep their eyes open in the Abbey tonight?
    Joss tried first one position and then another on the hard old settle, until he finally found a bearable one, arms folded, with his long legs stretched out before him and his head cushioned on his shoulder. Trusting Bates to hold the coachman below stairs, and counting upon Grace to at least sleep with one eye open so he could close both of his, he slowly began to unclench his mind and drift away. . . .

C HAPTER T HREE
    Cora’s eyes came open to shadow-steeped semidarkness. The fire had dwindled. The only light was issuing from a candle branch on the nightstand, where the candles had burned down to stubs dripping tallow on the embroidered linen runner. What was that wet, foul-smelling rag doing on her forehead? The liquid from it had dampened her hair and begun to trickle down her neck and into her ear. That must have been what woke her . . . unless it was the rotund woman snoring in the wing chair beside the hearth. Cora slapped the folded scrap of cloth away with her hand, as if it were a creepy crawly spider or worse, and vaulted upright in the gauze-draped sleigh bed. She winced for having grieved the lump on her brow that the poultice had covered, not to mention her aching muscles. Her whole body throbbed with pain.
    Where was she? She threw back the counterpane and glanced down at the all but transparent voile nightdress clinging to her body. It was the color of melted butter, and just as soft to the touch, with a neckline that baredher shoulders. Whose was it? Certainly not hers. She brushed the hair out of her eyes. Her amber combs were gone. In their absence, her long chestnut mane fell over her shoulders and arms from a center part, and puddled in her lap. She flung it behind her shoulders and eased her feet over the edge of the mattress to the floor.
    Eyeing the sleeping woman across the way, she wondered,
Where have they taken me, and what evil are they plotting now?
She wouldn’t be a party to it, whatever was afoot. That resolve summoned strength she never would have believed she possessed, and she surged to her feet, glancing about for some object she could employ as a weapon. This time, she would not be beaten into submission—never again!
    Her eyes flashed at once to the hearth and the pokers amassed there. Tiptoeing to the hearthstone, she hefted one. Why was it so heavy? It took all her strength to lift it with both hands. Her whole body was trembling and vertigo starred her vision. She set the poker back in its bracket. Her tiny wrists weren’t strong enough to wield it. Anyone could easily wrest it away from her. Staring at it longingly, she sighed. In her present condition it was useless.
    Turning back, she glanced about the room again. There had to be something. . . . Yes! She lifted the porcelain pitcher from its bowl on the dry sink and tested it in her hand, assessing its weight. Perfect. She could wield it easily enough to do damage if needs must; at least, whoever happened to be unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of it would be hard put to escape unscathed. And if it were to break . . . Yes, it would do nicely, indeed.
    Wasting no time, Cora padded to the door and