Lady Lissa's Liaison Read Online Free PDF

she said, straightening, refusing to back down. "For all of your expert casting, sir, you obviously haven't a clue as to what type of fly should be affixed to your line."
    "B'god, were you a man to say such a thing to me, I would—"
    "You would what?" Lissa dangerously cut in. "Challenge me? Come now, Lord Wylde, you obviously have a hankering to catch some trout, and you just as obviously haven't the knowledge as to what bait to use. I can help you." She paused, then went on quickly, "And you—you can help me."
    One black brow lifted above his deep, dark eyes. "Oh? How so?"
    "I—I can teach you about the insects that flit in the air above the Dove... and you, sir, can use that knowledge to hook the very trout that ate my locket and has thus far eluded your line."
    Before she knew what he was about, Lord Wylde closed the distance between them, dropped his wicker basket and fine net to the ground near her feet, then kicked open the lid of the basket with one booted toe.
    "Tell me," he demanded, "what fly of mine you think I should use to catch that wily trout."
    Lissa blinked, her nerves frayed by his brusque tone and slamming about. "Well, I—"
    "Tell me."
    Lissa took in a steadying breath, licked her suddenly dry lips, and then glanced down at the basket. She frowned. It was just as she thought; every fly pinned to the snowy sheepskin was as flawed and pathetic as the nymph at the end of his pole.
    She quirked one brow up at him. "The truth, sir?"
    "Let's have it," he all but growled.
    "Very well, but do remember that you insisted. The fact of the matter is, sir, none of them are a good choice. The tails are all too long, the bodies poorly made, and the hooks—"
    "Faith, "he muttered, slamming the lid shut once again. "That's enough."
    Lissa cringed, fearing he was about to give her a scathing set-down. Clearly, he hadn't earned the title of heartless for no reason.
    "Sir?" she managed, her voice sounding far too uncertain even to her own ears.
    But Lord Wylde wasn't listening, nor was he even looking at her. He was looking at the river, and suddenly he was pacing, back and forth, his pole gripped in one hand, as with the other hand he raked his fingers through the black, shagged lengths of his hair. He appeared to be wrestling with some inner demon; looked frightfully agitated, in fact.
    Lissa caught her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly amazed at the fact that she was standing alone in the woods with a man so many deemed to be a dangerous cannon, a veritable devil come to walk the earth. That she'd insulted him with her assessment of his fly-tying skills was obvious. That she hadn't yet been cut down by his legendary fury was nothing short of remarkable.
    She was debating whether to run for safety when he stopped pacing and abruptly turned toward her.
    "Name it," he demanded suddenly.
    Lissa, her nerves in a jumble, jerked to attention. "My lord?"
    "The fly, my lady. Tell me what fly I should use at this time of year."
    Lissa wondered if she heard him aright. "Does this mean that you will help—"
    "Aye," he growled. "I will help, but mind you I cannot promise to do the impossible. The trout you wish to hook is an old and very cautious one. He hasn't grown huge for no reason. Only the smartest and most cautious trout know when to bite and when not to bite."
    "Of—of course," said Lissa, feeling a bit of hope spring forth in her.
    "As for your end of our bargain," Wylde continued, just as gruffly, "you will share with me your knowledge of insects."
    "Oh, I will. I shall! In fact, I've my sketchbook with me. I've sketched all manner of insects, sir. In great detail."
    Lissa dove one hand into her satchel, producing her sketchbook and nature journal as well. "Come," she said, placing both atop the ground, "and see for yourself." She flipped a few pages into the journal, finding an entry she'd written about the green-drake fly. She opened her sketchbook to the exact spot where she'd created a watercolor of the