Julie Anne Long Read Online Free PDF Page A

year 1600 or so.
    “Yes. Gold coins. They make you look rather mysterious and wise.”
    Connor’s mouth quirked again as he moved his brush over Maharajah’s haunches. His face, absurdly, was growing warm. “What a shame it is, then, that I am neither. Now, who does Maharajah resemble? Your mama? Lorelei?”
    Rebecca giggled and stopped brushing to plant a kiss on Maharajah’s soft gray nose.
    “What now, are we throwing ourselves at man and beast both, these days, Miss Tremaine? Best be careful, or they’ll have you and Maharajah in front of the vicar before I can say Finn MacCool.”
    Rebecca laughed, delighted with the image. “I’d much rather be Mrs. Maharajah than . . . than . . .”
    She stopped suddenly, as though she could not bear to finish the sentence, and the laughter left her voice.
    “Connor . . . do you think I should practice the pianoforte? Isn’t that what . . . well,
wives . . . are supposed to do? I already know about the . . . the . . . well,
you know. Other marriage things. From Papa’s book.”
    Connor went still. She had always been able to do this, had done this to him since she was twelve years old. She’d say something so utterly . . . Rebecca . . . something so simultaneously shocking, insightful, hilarious, and heartbreaking that he never quite knew how to react, and so, in defense, and to buy time for a response, he’d learned to be quiet for a moment and to school his face to stillness. A cocked eyebrow would do in a pinch, on occasion. Not now, though.
    Rebecca ceased combing, too, and they stood together in silence. Without banter to shield him, the chill, mundane horror of the fate that awaited the young woman in front of him seeped into his bones. Connor would not, could not, picture what marriage to a dissolute lordling would do to the remarkable Rebecca Tremaine. He felt the noose of the consequences as surely as if it were being tightened around his own throat.
    “No. I do not think you should practice the pianoforte,” he said finally, inadequately. His voice had gone strangely husky.
    “I am so sorry, Becca, I am, truly. This folly is all my doing,” Lorelei said, wringing her hands. Her eyes, however, were glued to the mirror. Rebecca had become accustomed to speaking to her lovely sister in this fashion, perched on the bed behind her while Lorelei sat at her vanity, gazing with meditative fascination at her own reflection.
    “Bah, Lor, it is not your doing. We are both to blame. But whatever were you thinking? The garden? At midnight? With
Edelston
? Mama and Papa are saving you for a duke, at least.”
    “I was
not
thinking. And therein lies the problem. Edelston had quite fogged my brain. Let us blame Edelston, then. He is not a gentleman. He is
loathsome
.”
    “
Loathsome
,” Rebecca agreed vigorously.
    There was a silence.
    “But handsome,” Lorelei added, a trifle reluctantly.
    “
Very
handsome,” Rebecca confirmed, after a moment.
    “Becca?”
    “Hmmm . . . ?” Rebecca, freshly filled with lunch and feeling a little sleepy from it, was now sprawled on the bed.
    “Your shoes. You’ve just come from the stable.”
    Rebecca scooted forward obligingly so that her sullied feet could dangle off the edge of Lorelei’s counterpane.
    “What . . . what was it like?” Lorelei asked tentatively.
    Rebecca thought a moment. “It was very . . .
interesting
,” she said, finally, imbuing the last word with rich layers of nuance and innuendo that it mostly did not deserve. Lorelei gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, and they giggled together wickedly. It was fun to make Lorelei giggle, especially since she had so lately embraced what she considered ladylike reserve.
    “Everyone thinks you came out to the garden to rescue me,” Rebecca mused.
    “I know. I cannot disabuse them of that notion.”
    “Good heavens! Do not try! I am sorry I had to tell Mama and Papa the truth, as it is. I was in a panic, you see.”
    “Oh, but, Becca!” Lorelei