Jumping in Puddles Read Online Free PDF Page A

to be regularly confronted by images of his brother’s happiness.
    Do a bit of dusting? Arrange a wedding in less than six weeks? Was Denzel insane?
    Looking forward to seeing you. Oh, you’ll be my best man, won’t you?
    Yours,
    The Spare
    Jago screwed the letter into a ball, dropped it to kick it, but missed and kicked the table. He grabbed a vase wobbling on the top, but steaming with fury, he threw it at the wall, where it shattered. How the hell was he supposed to turn Sharwood into an acceptable wedding venue in a matter of weeks? More to the point, where was the money going to come from? He stared at the check, but it had already been spent on hiring scaffolding, buying paint, repairing the stained glass window. Fucking hell, Denzel, couldn’t you have just waited? He launched a kick at the largest shard of the vase, and it hit the door and broke again. He’d always hated the bloody thing. It had sat in the same spot all his life. His mother had—
    Oh God, I shouldn’t have broken it. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
    He started at a loud knock, stuffed the check in his wallet, grabbed the crumpled letter from the floor, and pushed it in his pocket. The knocking persisted, and he yanked open the door to see a tall, slim figure in jeans and a red hooded jacket, fingertips poking out the ends of the sleeves. Jago glanced at the bag on the step and huffed out a sigh of aggravation. Over the last couple of days, he’d been plagued by doorstep callers.
    “No, I don’t want to look through your collection of reasonably priced household cleaning items despite the fact that you’re out of work, just released from a young offenders institute, and homeless. Nor do I wish to talk about the imminent arrival of Armageddon. I know I’m going to hell, and I don’t fucking care. I don’t need double glazing, aerial shots of the house, or my windows cleaned with some superslick dirt-off solution. I’m not going to sign a petition against a traveler’s site. I don’t wish to buy organic meat nor do have any items to donate to a charity auction.”
    Dark green eyes stared steadily at him.
    “Are you the butler?” the woman asked. “I think you need to go back to butlering school.” She glanced at the floor behind him. “You should take more care dusting precious objects. Would you give the master my card?” She held out a business card in slender fingers.
    “I’m Lord Carlyle, not the bloody butler,” he all but snarled.
    When she showed no surprise, he realized she’d been teasing. The bloody cheek of it.
    She put her card back in her pocket and curtsied. “Ellie Norwood. Nice to meet you.”
    “What do you want?” he asked abruptly.
    “I’m looking for somewhere to stay in return—”
    “You have any money?”
    She shook her head. “Not exactly, but I wanted to talk about—”
    “Then find somewhere else.” Jago locked the door and hurried down the steps. By habit, he patted the head of the stone griffin on the right. He usually kicked the one on the left that Denzel rode as a child, but knowing his luck today, he’d break his foot.
    The rain came down harder as he strode along the drive to the gatehouse, stepped from side to side to avoid the numerous puddles. He was furious with his brother. How the hell was he supposed to host a wedding? And with a fucking llama, because he suspected that wasn’t a joke. Bloody Denzel had conveniently gone traveling, so he couldn’t tell him no.
    “I wouldn’t be any trouble,” said a voice behind him. “In fact, I can—”
    “I said no.” He walked faster, splashed the bottom of his pants in a puddle he’d not seen, and huffed with annoyance. The drive needed repair. It was on the list and not near the top.
    He didn’t want TV people here, tsking about the state of the place, but Denzel had left him little choice. It would help pay for the wedding. His burst of fury dissipating, he began to plan.
    The baron’s hall would work for the reception. They could use the