Elisabeth Fairchild Read Online Free PDF Page B

coach across the courtyard with misgiving, then frowned at the sky, bird-like brows arching, falling. Leap of faith.
    “It is a long walk to Leeds in the rain,” he ventured. “Might I offer you transport?”
    She seemed taken aback. “You are very kind.”
    His lip curled. “You do not really believe that, or you would agree to go to Wales.”
    “I will agree to accept a ride to Leeds, and I thank you.”
    He reached for her bags, and for a fleeting moment, as he leaned toward her, as his gloved hands met hers, fear darted in her eyes.
    Silly puss. What has Palmer done to you?
    She regained her equilibrium, her sensible manner, as she relinquished the bags, as she watched him toss them to a footman.
    “Thank you,” she said again.
    He glanced at Palmer’s coach as he followed the dark sway of her cloak, as he swung wide the door. The black horses were whipped into motion. Palmer’s coach wheeled out of the courtyard. A dragon flown.
    Felicity squealed a welcome.
    Miss Deering stilled his child with a word, arranged her skirts with practiced hand, and squinted at him, through the misted windowpane as he slammed the door shut.
    “He does not mean to come with us?” he heard her ask Felicity.
    His daughter, who knew his habits, said, “He always rides in the rain. Curious, is it not?”
    As a cat, he thought, and smiled.
    Mrs. Olive, his housekeeper, hard of hearing, spoke loudly as he swung into the bay’s saddle. “Enjoys the elements since his French tour.”
    It is the stillness I enjoy. The sound of my own breathing. The pounding heat. Life between my legs. He watched his breath drift white upon the breeze, heard Cupid speak again, softly, giving him courage.
    The footmen who clung to the back of the coach, eyed him balefully beneath dripping hats, caped coats buttoned high. They hated this sort of weather. No dragons among them.
    He spared them no pity. It was nothing to surviving a bit of wet when one knew a warm fire, hot food, and dry bed waited every night. Not like serving one’s time in a wet tent choking down weevil pitted hard tack, not knowing if the morning’s light would bring victory or death. He nudged the horse into motion. Cupid would understand.
    He regretted the thought. He could not think of Cupid without thinking of Penny, whom he had promised himself he would not think of again today.
    My mouth is dry, my reputation soaked. Lord. I need a drink.
    As if God heard, it started to rain harder.
    With a chuckle Val turned his face to the sky and opened his mouth, catching raindrops on his tongue, the droplets teasing his thirst rather than quenching it.
    A drink. A proper drink. Just a mouthful would do. A tongue nipping swallow of whiskey, a throat warming sip of brandy.
    But no. He would not, could not. Especially not now, with Mrs. Olive just returned to him, Felicity in his care, and dear Miss Deering watching his every move with her bright, dark eyes through the coach window. So Palmer had wanted more than a governess! Palmer, who prided himself on being better than everyone else, with his perfect home, perfect wife, and three doting children. Palmer had wanted the doe-eyed Deering?
    The want within him burned fiercely. Not for this Deering, but for a misspent Penny. Foolish to yearn after that which he might not have, not ever again. No better than Palmer.
    The pounding of the horses’ hooves seemed bent on pounding that truth into his skull. No drink. No Penny. He vowed he would not think of her again, and found, as he raced along the lane, legs wrapped around the bay’s surging, muscular sides, that his mind would fix on nothing else. Penny. Pretty Penny. Touch-me-not. Touch-me-never.

 
     

Chapter Five
    E laine had not expected to find a woman in the coach. She had seen no sign of her through the rain-fogged window, though it made sense that Lord Wharton would bring a caretaker for the child, a companion.
    She was a buxom woman going gray about the temples, with fly-away hair of