In Your Arms Again Read Online Free PDF Page A

she came to him, asking him to be her first lover.
    She’d feared her future, and then a new one was handed to her. Society let her in without question, and the one person who made him feel as though he belonged was lost to him forever.
    Until last night when he’d picked her out of the crowd with frightening ease.
    She had grown into a beautiful woman, his Vie. Tall and slender, with skin like peach-kissed alabaster, and features that were both sharp yet sensual. Her hair was still that strange combination of copper, blond and brown, so that it changed depending on the lighting. Her smile could still illuminate an entire room.
    She was a woman, that was for sure; the soft breasts pushed upward by the gown she’d worn—the color of which he couldn’t remember—were proof enough of that. But one look in her eyes was enough to determine that no matter what she looked like, how she dressed, or who she was with, she was still his Vie. Once his shadow, then his friend, and finally his torment.
    And to think that she had almost made the mistake of coming to him, of speaking to him. Hadn’t her grandfather warned her about socializing with people of his ilk? Surely he must have advised her to not reveal her past connections with North and the theater? No one could know of her sordid beginnings, that her mother had allowed her to be raised in such circumstances. Hadn’t that been what old Vaux-Daventry, Lord Spinton, told North that day he’d actually tried to claim Octavia for his own?
    She deserves better , the old man had told him. If you truly care for her, you will never come near her again.
    So North hadn’t, despite Octavia’s efforts to entice him. He still had all the letters she’d sent, letters that arrived like clockwork for the longest time and then eventually dwindled as he refused to reply and she learned to stop trying. Even though he sometimes kicked himself for letting her go, he knew the old man had been right. He couldn’t have given Octavia the life she deserved—the life her birth entitled her to. His one act of rebellion against this was the flowers he had sent to her on her birthday.
    A casual hello at a party would not raise eyebrows, but Octavia hadn’t looked casual; she had looked ready to call him some foolish pet name and rush into his arms. Obviously her grandfather had been able to teach her to act like a lady, but he hadn’t been able to change her completely.
    For some reason, that realization was as saddening as it was joyful.
    The carriage rolled to a halt. Had he arrived home already? The trip seemed so short, but then he’d had his mind on other things.
    He lived in his mother’s house—the one his father had bought for her back when Covent Garden had still maintained some degree of respectability. His mother had named him North because that was the corner of the piazza in whichthe house was situated. It was an elegant yet simple structure of smooth red brick, and but a short walk from the theaters and the Bow Street offices.
    Once it had been home. Now it was simply his house.
    North barely stepped through the door when his housekeeper, Mrs. Bunting, rushed to meet him.
    Little hands clasped before a generous bosom and a happy smile greeted him. Bunty was as much a part of this house as he was—having been there for more years. “There’s a gentleman waiting for you in your office, Mr. Sheffield.”
    North often conducted business out of his home, and his address was public knowledge—it was one of the reasons he slept with a loaded pistol nearby, and why he had a very large man by the name of Johnson acting as his butler. Johnson searched every stranger who came into North’s home. It wasn’t just for of his own safety that North had this done, but for the safety of his servants as well. He hadn’t made a lot of enemies in his career, but he’d made enough. Harker, for example.
    “Is Johnson with him?” he asked, combing his fingers through the unruly waves on his