Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

lost himself for a moment, caught up in his thoughts. Presently, he emerged from his reverie and regarded Evelyn with a mischievous grin. “I should thank you, Miss Brennan. I’ve waited long enough to find my own way in this world, and you are my ticket out of here.”
    Lucius was giddy now, and he touched Evelyn’s nose with his fingertip. She flinched backward and slapped him.
                Lucius rubbed his cheek for the second time in twenty-four hours. He couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it, but he thought Evelyn was rather over-reacting.
                “We’ll be richer than we ever dreamed,” he whispered, rising in preparation to leave. “Just imagine, Miss Brennan. No more sitting in the parlor gazing out the window. You may be my ticket, but you’re profiting from me as well. This will be an adventure for the both of us, I promise you.”
               
     

Chapter Four
     
    Furious, Evelyn whipped her head towards the window, where she gazed upon a gray new world with eyes that saw only red.
                It had begun to rain.
    She took a few moments to calm her nerves and steady her breathing, listening as Lucius’ footsteps descended the hall towards his rooms. Once she could no longer hear him, she rang the bell for Beatrice to bring her breakfast. Presently, the servant joined her with a toothy smile and an aromatic tray of coffee and croissants. Lacking any appetite, Evelyn picked at the pastry before ignoring it altogether and settled on the coffee. Its rich aroma filled her senses as she closed her eyes to breathe it in.
    “Today is the day,” Beatrice whispered, watching Evelyn for any sort of reaction.
    Evelyn sighed before opening her eyes. She stared into the deep blackness of her drink and nodded her head, the conversation with Lucius replaying in her mind.
    Yes, today was the day. She had long dreaded its arrival.
    Beatrice seated herself beside her mistress, hands clasped in her lap. The women sat in silence for a moment until the servant reached over to touch her Evelyn’s arm. It had been like this between them since the beginning. Evelyn had no qualms with Beatrice’s dark skin, and Beatrice was happy to bestow compassion upon the orphaned girl. Beatrice was old enough to be her mother, and she had no children of her own. She was a free black, for slavery was outlawed in New York, and she had been in the Flynn’s employ since their arrival to America.
    “Are you frightened?” she asked, for Evelyn was slightly trembling.
    Evelyn did not eagerly dwell upon her emotions, nor was she apt to divulge them. She had learned to quiet fear and sadness by blocking the connection from her heart to her mind. It was an easy disconnection when she was reading French or drawing flowers, but her piano playing had suffered. She had sacrificed emotional intuition for practicality and even now, on the dawn of her wedding, she could barely correlate the shaking of her hands to the beginning of her loveless marriage.
    As her eyes bore into her coffee she could feel nothing but anger, but that was nothing new. Perhaps she was frightened, but not in the way most virgin brides might be frightened. After all, Evelyn was not about to allow Lucius to touch her. A ring and vows would not give him that privilege.
    If Evelyn Brennan was frightened, it was because a marriage to Lucius Flynn would prove a greater sacrifice than she was willing to give, despite the years of preparation.
    “No, Beatrice,” Evelyn shook her head, “but I am cross. I wish this day had never come.”
    Beatrice clucked her tongue.
    “I shouldn’t blame you, ma’am,” she sympathized. “Marryin’ the young Master Flynn would put me in a fair temper, myself.”
    The servants were well acquainted with Lucius’ habits: his sneaking in and out through the kitchen door, his all-night vigils, his debt-collectors on the front steps, and his empty bottles strewn about the house. What kind of