Debra Mullins Read Online Free PDF Page A

Turning from him, she vanished into the darkened paths of Vauxhall.

Chapter 2
    A nna awoke the next morning not knowing where she was. For one sleepy moment she thought of Anthony and reached for him with her heart. But there was nothing there.
    Then memory flooded back, and her eyes popped open. Over a year ago, death had snapped the bond with her twin like a twig beneath a booted foot. Yet every morning she woke and expected to find him nearby, as he had always been, even before their birth. And every morning the bitter disappointment of her aloneness nearly choked her.
    She raised her hand to her neck, but the locket that always comforted her was not there. Then she remembered. It lay across the room on the bureau, sparkling in the morning sunlight. She recalledRome’s hand at her neck as the chain gave way…
    Rome. Good heavens.
    Anna fell back against the pillows, mortified, as memories of the previous night washed over her.
    What had possessed her to allow a total stranger such liberties with her person? She laid a hand over her eyes, shocked at her own actions. She had followed that group of gentlemen to discover more about Anthony’s death, not to be mauled.
    A twinge of guilt pricked her. All right, perhaps mauled was not the word. Molested? No, not quite right either.
    Caressed?
    A ripple of excitement shivered through her at the recollection of the astonishing sensations she had experienced. Not just caressed. Seduced. Thoroughly, indubitably seduced by a gentleman who knew exactly what he was about.
    And despite the chagrin that arrived with the sunrise, a sense of giddy glee made her want to hold her secret close and giggle like a schoolgirl. Finally, she understood, a little bit, what all the fuss was about.
    Wanton! She rolled over in bed, cheeks burning, and tried to push the shameful…shocking…delicious memories from her mind. She had no business reliving last night’s erotic adventures. She was an engaged woman—well, almost. She had no right to fantasize about a man who was not her future husband.
    Instead, she should be concentrating on her brother.
    The thought of Anthony sobered her as nothing else could. He must be her priority, scandalous escapades aside.
    She swept back the covers and rose from bed to cross the room to the bureau. Picking up the broken locket, she flipped open the catch. Inside were two miniatures, one of her and one of Anthony.
    The artist had captured her brother perfectly, from the devil-may-care grin to the sparkle of mischief in his brown eyes. His nearly black hair curled over his forehead like that of a little boy; he’d neglected to cut it, as usual. She smiled sadly, remembering how she’d badgered him about it. Then again, he’d only kept it unruly to annoy Papa.
    The miniature of her was an older one, done when she was barely six. They’d both had their portraits painted that year, but Anthony had presented her with a more recent one of himself for her sixteenth birthday.
    He’d always known exactly what she needed, always known the right thing to say. They were twins, completely in tune with one another’s thoughts and feelings. She wondered what he would have said about her actions last night.
    As the first tear slid down her cheek, a soft knock came at the door. “Anna, dear? Are you awake?”
    “Yes, Mama.” Sniffling, she glanced around forsomething with which to wipe her eyes as her mother opened the door.
    Seeing her daughter’s tears, Henrietta Rosewood’s face creased in sympathy, and she produced a fine lace handkerchief. “There now, darling.”
    Anna took the handkerchief with her free hand and dabbed at the moisture around her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
    Her mother’s gaze fell on the locket in her hand, and she gave a sigh. Taking the necklace, she glanced briefly at Anthony’s miniature, her own expression softening to one of longing. Then she shut the locket with a snap. She frowned as she noticed the broken clasp. “Anna,