Heir of Danger Read Online Free PDF Page A

a wild riot of dark red curls. And an impish gleam in her big brown eyes. Then he’d looked up and, instead of the girl of his memories, he’d fastened his gaze on a voluptuous woman tempting as chocolate with a body that made his blood rush faster. Seeing her made him light-headed and stupid with thoughts he never should think and ideas he daren’t let take shape.
    He should have joined Jack their last night in Ennis. His cousin had that scoundrel’s knack for finding the perfect woman to scratch any itch. Brendan shifted uncomfortably, dousing his lust-filled imagination with more somber thoughts—the consequences if Máelodor gained possession of the Sh’vad Tual.
    War between the
Fey
-born race of
Other
and their un-magical
Duinedon
neighbors. And the cataclysm for both sides should this come to pass.
    “. . . a king’s ransom . . . what does she wear . . .”
    “. . . doesn’t matter, Marcus . . . let it go . . .”
    Men’s voices rose up from the bottom of the stairs. Automatically, Brendan went still, his breath barely stirring in his lungs. No shoes scuffed the stone steps. They must have taken shelter in one of the numerous benched alcoves.
    He delayed conjuring the
fith-fath
. Instead, he bent closer, letting the shadows glide up and over him until nothing moved to alert the men they had an audience.
    “I’m going mad with boredom, Gordon. What the blazes do people do around here?”
    “It’s not London, certainly, but it has its own simple charms. I’m quite enjoying the escape from the mad crush.”
    Gordon Shaw. His brother, Marcus. Brendan’s knees stiffened, his shoulders tightened, but he dared not move now.
    “Charms aside, you can’t convince me you’re truly happy kicking your heels in this backwater while the London Season progresses at full swing. And what does Lord Prosefoot say about your absence during the session?”
    “He was most agreeable. And it’s not as if I didn’t bring work with me. I’ve gotten quite a bit done too. Don’t fret. A week more and we’ll be on the packet for Holyhead. In London by the end of the month”
    A dramatic groan. “I don’t think I can survive another week tethered to this provincial idea of entertainment. I never told you, but yesterday at dinner I was caught by Miss Fitzgerald’s cousin, Mrs. Tolliver of Bedfordshire. I had to sit through an interminable recitation of family connections between the Shaws and the Tollivers stretching back to the Conquest. Filial duty only goes so far.”
    “Yes, but at that same dinner I was in conversation with Elisabeth’s guardian, Lord Taverner. He’s offered to have a word about an ambassadorial posting with Stuart in France.From there, who knows how far I might rise. I knew this Fitzgerald alliance would be the making of me,” Shaw announced proudly.
    “I’m not sure which you’re more excited about—the wife or the political connection.”
    “Do you know? Neither am I.”
    Cynical brotherly laughter followed.
    Poor bloody Lissa. She had horrible luck in picking husbands.
    Elisabeth brushed her hair long after every tangle had been ferociously removed. Usually the steady even strokes soothed her. Tonight the jumbled tumult of her thoughts overpowered every attempt at relaxation. Why had Brendan come back from the dead? Who was he hiding from? Was he in trouble? Why did she care?
    Placing the brush back upon her dressing table, she noted with a frown the slight tremble of her fingers, the riot of nerves jumping in her stomach. Wedding jitters. That was all. Excitement. Anxiety. A little fear. All of it normal. Expected.
    Her anxiety had nothing to do with the return of a man she’d thought dead and buried.
    She should have known better. He was far too clever to end unmourned in a pauper’s grave.
    Her fear was in no way connected to the surprising presence of a man rumored to have conspired in the death of his own father.
    She’d never believed those stories. Brendan might be a lot of