Heir of Danger Read Online Free PDF

things, but not a murderer.
    And her excitement was definitely not a surge of girlhood crush.
    She cared for Gordon. Gordon cared for her. In an adult, mature, respectable way.
    Carelessly, she reached up to finger the stone at her throat, resting dark and cool against her skin. Brendan cared for no one but Brendan. Never had. Never would.
    Yet, when she slipped beneath the sheets and blew out her candle, it remained his gift about her neck. And his face imprinted upon her mind.
    She didn’t know who she hated more at that moment. Brendan for coming. Or herself for being excited by it.
    Elisabeth’s dressing-room door opened on silent hinges. Thick rugs muffled his every footfall. Thank heavens for the luxury of wealth. It made breaking and entering so much easier.
    Her bedchamber door was closed, allowing him the freedom to light the stub of a candle. He sat at the dainty rosewood dressing table, her jewelry case conveniently at hand. Rummaging through the contents, he pulled free a heart-shaped locket containing miniatures of her parents, a small amber cross, two lavish strands of pearls, a topaz choker, and a dazzling necklace containing a rajah’s ransom of sapphires. Earrings and bracelets. Gold and silver combs. Rings and brooches.
    But no pendant.
    Rifled drawers revealed jars of cosmetics and lotions, bottles of scent, packets of pins and ribbons. Handkerchiefs and boot laces and a broken embroidery hoop.
    But no pendant.
    He huffed an exasperated sigh. Where the hell had she put it?
    He began again. Searching more carefully. Reachingback into the corners of each drawer. Pulling piece by piece out of her jewelry case, then returning it in what he hoped was the correct place.
    The room held a million places a woman could hide a necklace. Cabinets, tables, a desk. He searched each piece thoroughly. He even shoved his hand beneath the chair cushions and pushed against fireplace tiles, seeking a hidden panel.
    If you didn’t count two chewed-on pencil nubs, four missing buttons, a crumpled laundry list, and a handful of hairpins, he found absolutely nothing.
    A faint thump from the bedchamber brought him up short. Blowing out the candle, he went still. Barely breathed. And surrendered the field.
    For now.

three

    The buffet table groaned with platters of eggs, sausages, thick slices of ham, cold tongue, and baskets of rolls and toast. Tea and coffee filled silver urns upon a sideboard. Brendan counted heads. Five other occupants still seated. He should have taken breakfast early when most were still foggy from last night’s wine.
    At one end of the table sat Miss Sara Fitzgerald, nose buried in the day’s post. Across from her, Mrs. Pheeney eyed the sausage with heartfelt longing and heavy sighs. Between them, Elisabeth’s great-aunt Charity, a woman Brendan had met once long ago and not on the best of terms. If he remembered correctly, he’d been holding a frog. She’d been screeching.
    At the far end of the table, Shaw’s and Elisabeth’s chairs were pulled close together in apparent amity. Brendan’s jaw tightened on a grimace of distaste that he transformed into a smile when Elisabeth spotted him. Shewasn’t as adept an actress. Her face flamed red, her fingers gripping her butter knife as if she might stab him with it.
    And there was the stone, taunting him from amid the folds of her lace fichu. Brendan restrained the impulse to cross the room, rip it from her throat, and run like hell. Unfortunately, he’d not get twenty paces before someone brought him down. More than likely Shaw, who possessed the brawn to snap him in two.
    “Mr. Martin, how nice of you to join us this”—Elisabeth made a great show of checking the mantel clock, which read half eleven—“why, it is still morning.”
    He pulled his watch from its pocket, snapping it open to confirm the time against the clock. “The same to the very minute.” Shoved it back into his pocket with a smile and a nod toward Miss Sara Fitzgerald, who