England's Perfect Hero Read Online Free PDF Page A

him. But Edward, shivering in his nightshirt and clutching a metal soldier almost hidden in one fist, was a different story.
    "I had an errand, Runt," he said, sweeping the boy into a hug and steeling himself against the tightness of the thin arms that wrapped around his neck.
    "Well, I was worried about you. I'm really not old enough to be the man of the house, you know, but everyone else is gone."
    Robert slung his brother over his shoulder and climbed the stairs, refusing to wince at the additional strain on his bad knee. One brother still saw him as undamaged, and he'd be damned before he let that change. Deeper down he knew he'd be damned if that changed. "What woke you up?"
    "I dreamed that Shaw's ship sank."
    "Shaw's dancing at the Wellcrist ball right now. Yell at him tomorrow for not waking you up when he got home early."
    "I will yell at him," Edward returned sleepily as they reached his bedchamber. "You're not going out again?"
    Robert set him on the bed and pulled up the covers as the boy snuggled against the pillows. "No. Good night, Runt."
    "Good night, Bit."
    As he closed Edward's door and went down the hall to his own bedchamber, Robert wondered why the Runt had settled on him, of all people, to rely on for comfort. Yes, he was there most of the time, but he'd hardly characterize himself as reliable. Still, the other brothers teased Edward for his fear of being alone in the house—after all, how could he think himself alone in a building full of servants, plus the aunties when they were in town?
    Five years ago, Robert wasn't certain he would have been able to answer that question, either. But then five years ago he'd never heard of Chateau Pagnon—or of le comte General Jean-Paul Barrere.
    As he shed his jacket he paced to the window and shoved it open. The nearly dead fire glowed deeper red behind the stone hearth and then faded again in the rush of cold air, but he ignored the sudden chill. Unless it was snowing he needed the fresh air to sleep—even what passed for fresh air in London .
    A short time later he lay back in his soft bed, arms crossed behind his head. So Lucinda Barrett had been serious about setting her sights on Lord Geoffrey Newcombe. He'd stayed to watch, and the two of them had looked good, waltzing together at the Wellcrist soiree. She'd looked good, smiling and chatting with her many friends, a diamond among gemstones.
    Robert sighed. He shouldn't have ridiculed her choice of student, talking as though he had any grasp on what made someone acceptable, any longer. She'd been kind and had accepted his apology, and she'd even asked him to stay. Just the fact that he'd been able to force himself to attend the soiree and talk to her with some measure of decorum surprised him.
    He turned on his side, facing the window. A day ago he wouldn't have been able to imagine himself voluntarily attending a meaningless, crowded waste of time like that. It had been difficult, very difficult, but he'd managed it. And he knew why.
    He hadn't been thinking of the close walls and the crowd and the heat and the blathering nonsense. He'd been thinking about Miss Barrett. And now he was thinking about talking to her again. He'd watched her from behind the gates of his private hell for three years, but now they'd spoken. She hadn't realized it, of course, but she'd drawn him a little toward the light. And now everything felt… different.
    For the first time in three years he fell asleep thinking of calm and serenity and a quiet smile, rather than of terror and death and whether he would live to see daylight.
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    Chapter 3

    You have hope, and the world before you, and have no cause for despair. But I — I have lost everything and cannot begin life anew .
    —Victor Frankenstein, Frankenstein
    Lucinda leaned into the doorway of her father's office. "No, Papa, I don't think Lord Milburne is an anarchist. Why?"
    General Augustus Barrett glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression stern but his gray eyes