In the Brief Eternal Silence Read Online Free PDF Page A

last measure of his lordship,
his dark, soaking wet hair, his gold eyes, which met hers with a
reflective glance before shifting to inspect her mount, raindrops
clinging to their lashes. Now that he was standing, only his boots
showed from beneath his coat, and although his figure was slender,
she remembered the muscles in his legs and thought of him now as so
much coiled and finely tempered steel, ready to spring without
warning.
    Miss Murdock smiled at her thoughts, telling
herself that at least she could claim acquaintance with the
notorious duke whose exploits, all unsavory, were bandied about
even in this far off region of the realm, and that she had survived
the encounter with at least a small success at the end of her
unfortunate afternoon.
    Old Kennedy, their only groom, had at last
made appearance, and with some relief she handed him the reins. All
the same, when he began to lead the horse slowly toward the
stables, she followed, gimping, after him, her concentration on the
filly's stride, watching carefully for any sign of limp or
lameness.
    “Goodbye, Miss Murdock,” Ryan Tempton
called.
    She turned and waved a brief salute. Then she
continued up the track, her shoulders hunched against the still
drizzling rain.

    Rather than letting up, the rain that had
been coming down all day had intensified by the time St. James and
his party made the five mile trek to the crossroads inn.
    It was becoming dark, the horses they had
hired out for their excursion (as they had all left their
conveyances and teams at the inn's stable) were roundly
disgruntled, and Squire Murdock, who had joined them, was less than
enthusiastic with his choice of accepting the unexpected invitation
to join St. James and the two Tempton brothers.
    It was the filly, he supposed. Perhaps all
was not lost after all.
    His gout was acting up with the wet, and
although a meal at the inn would be quite pleasant, he still missed
being home in front of the fire, his foot propped up, with a glass
of adequate if not exceptional rum to help him forget his
discomfort.
    But when a lord of high ranking, such as the
Duke of St. James, requested one's presence, one did not lightly
put him off, despite his reputation. Or possibly, even more so
because of his reputation. So the Squire, sopping wet and
miserable, found himself pulling his horse up in front of the inn
and dismounting in the company of the duke, and Lord and Mister
Temptons.
    The private salon they were shown to helped
bolster his spirits. The fire was built up and snapping. The table
was set for three, but a chambermaid quickly added an extra plate,
and the innkeeper assured the duke that food would be brought in
shortwith. St. James, only dispensing of his riding gloves, but
before taking off his great coat, poured into four glasses from a
bottle of brandy. Yes, the Squire thought as he shrugged with
difficulty from his own worn coat, things were definitely looking
up. St. James offered around the glasses and the Squire accepted
with gratitude. He settled himself in a seat at the table, feeling
the steam rise from him as he began, at last, to dry out and warm
up.
    “Here's to a filly with promise,” St. James
said, lifting his glass. Then added, “If not ruined by the
unfortunate episode I witnessed today.”
    The Squire raised his glass to meet the
salute.
    Lord Bertram Tempton, his red hair plastered
to his head but his yellow coat dispensed of and revealing him in
all his brightly clothed glory, said, “I say, St. James. Told you
was a good filly!”
    “You did,” St. James replied. “But forgive me
if I have rather small faith in your eye for horseflesh.” He set
his glass aside, took off the caped coat he wore to reveal tanned
riding breeches and a rather plain white shirt, its only adornment
being lace at the cravat and cuffs. As his long fingers wrapped
again around his goblet, the lace fell back to reveal the delicate
whiteness of his skin. He was not tall, the Squire noted, nor was
he