Kathryn Caskie - [Royle Sisters 02] Read Online Free PDF Page B

window.
    Yes, had she thought about it, really thoughtabout it, she would have infinitely preferred risking a few snapped bones to subjecting herself to the paste smiles and leering judgmental looks the ton would eventually bequeath her—when they learned the truth of her lie.
    But she had had no choice. None at all.
    Thank heavens she had an ally. For the moment, anyway.
    Not the earl, her rakish, inebriated, unwitting partner in this night’s horribly botched crime.
    No, her ardent supporter, as unlikely as it was, was none other than the esteemed Lady MacLaren herself.
    For it had been only an instant after Anne uttered her great untruth that the countess had whirled about and faced the gathering. “Please, please,” she had called out, reducing the excited chatter in the room to a few whispers. “Let us all retire to the drawing room—to celebrate!” she sang out happily.
    A mite too happily.
    The countess’s hawkish gaze flitted upon each individual in the crowd, almost as though she were taking mental note of the lucky few who had managed to make their way inside the bedchamber to witness the spectacularly scandalous goings-on.
    “Come, now, I believe a toast is in order,” she twittered as she excitedly waved her gloved hands, shooing the hovering group back into the short passage. There they merged with a growing wave of curious members of the ton , and then, after an impervious nod from the countess, were swept back down the staircase by an army of stern liveried footmen.
    Anne, realizing her opportunity for escape lay in this moment, had made for the staircase and attempted to plunge into the ebbing tide of confused guests. But her effort was futile. Lady MacLaren had nabbed her in an instant.
    “Not you , my dear Miss Royle.” The Lady MacLaren’s surprisingly strong hand gripped Anne’s upper arm. “You must come with me to my bedchamber. We have much to discuss.”
    Before Anne had realized what was happening, she was sitting before a petite dressing table, and the countess’s own French lady’s maid was busily coiling and repinning her hair, lightly powdering her face, and rouging her cheeks.
    “I do not how this engagement truly came about, Miss Royle, but it doesn’t matter to me inthe least anymore. In fact, the less I know about the horrid details, so much the better.” Lady MacLaren snapped her fingers at her lady’s maid. “Pull her hair up tighter, and smooth down that waviness. I need her to appear elegant and polished. Do you understand?”
    “Oui , madame,” the maid muttered.
    “You and my son were caught alone in the darkness of his bedchamber. I do not know why you were there or for how long, but that is of no consequence. This delicate situation must be addressed carefully and quickly if we are to stop tongues from wagging and soiling your name—and ours.”
    Anne had no clue what the countess was meaning to do, but at least the woman was aware that there was no true engagement. “Oh, I am so glad you understand. I was concerned you were not aware that this talk of our betrothal is naught but—”
    “Miss Royle”—the countess raised her hand and stopped Anne’s words—“it matters not. Do not force me to repeat my words. Our course is set now, for I vow, I will not be disgraced again. Not again , do you understand me, Miss Royle?”
    Anne furrowed her brow. “A-actually no, I don’t understand, Lady MacLaren.”
    But the countess paid her comment no heed. Instead she turned her droopily lidded eyes upon Anne. “Your bone structure shows breeding, and your height—why, one might say you have almost a regal bearing.”
    “Th-thank you, Lady MacLaren.” Anne resisted the urge to slump her shoulders in defeat and sat up straight and tall upon the tufted stool.
    Suddenly the countess jerked Anne to her feet. “Stand up, gel, so Solange can see to your lacings.
    “Yes, you are quite a lovely woman. That is something at least.” The countess sighed loudly. “I