Kiss the Earl Read Online Free PDF Page B

I’m going to kill you for this.” She ran an angry hand through her hair, mussing the beautiful, dark mass. “Listen, you don’t need to know anything about me, because you’ll never believe it anyway. I need to get back to town and try to find someone who can help me get home.”
    â€œThe stage does stop at the inn we are bound for,” Patrick said helpfully. “You could book passage there.”
    She gave a bitter, dark laugh. “No, I can’t. It’s a little bit far for a horse and carriage—it’s more a job for a DeLorean. But thanks for the tip.”
    She set off toward the inn again, not taking his arm this time. With a scowl, he followed. He was no longer convinced that she was a maid or, indeed, a soiled dove. He was now quite sure she was a criminal of some sort.
    Why else would she be so reluctant to identify herself?
    He resolved to keep a close eye on his companion. After all, she was in his care for the moment, and he felt responsible for whatever mayhem she may cause.
    But such a beautiful criminal would be no chore to mind. He laughed to himself as he steadied her when she stumbled yet again. Despite her oddness, he was quite beginning to like her.
    Stranger though she was.
    * * *
    Ella winced as her ankle rolled for about the sixteenth time. These were really the most ridiculous shoes she could have worn. She definitely should have brought her Chucks.
    But it’s not like I was planning to walk along an unpaved road in the middle of the night with a freaking earl circa 1820 , she screamed in her still-pounding head. But even that didn’t really make her feel better.
    Damn it.
    If she couldn’t go back to the right point in time, she was going to miss the gala. Mrs. Knightsbridge hadn’t given her any indication about whether she’d be able to return to the same night she’d disappeared. So she very well might lose the job on Admiral Action, the only thing she’d really wanted for, well, her whole life. And now she was with a guy who thought she was a whore. Nice. Wonderful. If Hallmark made a card for this, she’d so be sending that nutty housekeeper one when she got home.
    If , she corrected herself as she jerked her elbow away from the earl’s steadying hand. If I ever get home .
    Because she needed something to focus on—anything but the miserable situation she found herself in—she decided to make conversation.
    â€œSo this Amelia Brownstone person, you were planning to knock her unconscious and kidnap her instead of me, right? Any particular reason?”
    She glanced up at him, just a little gratified at the tightening in his aristocratic jaw. After all, he was the one who’d called her a whore.
    Turnabout, fair play, and all that jazz.
    â€œNo, Miss Briley, I am afraid that the blow to your head was quite unplanned, and I do apologize for it. I hope it does not pain you overmuch.”
    She rubbed at the sore spot on her temple. “It hurts like hell, if you want to know the truth about it.”
    He gave her a look but didn’t comment on her colorful choice of words. “When we reach the inn, I shall pay for your accommodation. It is the least I can do for putting you in this predicament.”
    â€œThanks.” The reply was automatic. She hadn’t really thought about how she’d pay for the room at the inn. Or food, for that matter. Or clothes that wouldn’t make people automatically assume she was a streetwalker.
    She stopped dead in the middle of the road as reality came crashing down over her. This was bad. This wasn’t just bad, this was extra, super-duper bad with a side of awful sauce. This was comic book–worthy bad. Somewhere a mustachioed villain was cackling and rubbing his hands together.
    It would have been funny to picture Mrs. Knightsbridge with a mustache if things weren’t so dire.
    â€œCrap.” She sighed and kept walking.
    Patrick’s long