Like No Other Lover Read Online Free PDF Page A

day, she was certain of it.
    Because, really…how much challenge to her charm could that dour, bespectacled man possibly pose?

    While Miles waited, he gazed out the window into the dark upon a darkened view of the vast Redmond park over-hung with millions of stars, because he preferred that view to the deceptively calm colors of his father’s study: the browns and creams, the velvets, the soft scrolls over the carpet. Little that was actually mild or calm ever took place in this room. It was where Isaiah conducted any meeting he considered of import, such as scathing disciplinary lectures, or where he retreated in order to ponder new ways to build the family’s fortunes ever higher.
    Miles turned when he heard his father’s footsteps. Isaiah Redmond: very tall, lean where Miles was broad, still conspicuously handsome in the way that Lyon was. So nearly the twin of Lyon it sometimes startled. Green eyes, clear as gems.
    Miles was fond of his father. He even sympathized with his father that he didn’t happen to be Lyon. Not enough to attempt to be anyone other than who he wanted to be, of course.
    “Good evening, Father.”
    “Good evening, Miles. Your mother may have told you that we must away to Cambridgeshire to see to a property matter concerning the Tarbell side of the family—one of your mother’s cousins left a fortune, no will, and a squabble.”
    Miles had no doubt that his father would find a way to neatly, legally, fold the fortune into his own.
    “She did. I shall be happy to step in and see that the house party goes smoothly.”
    They spoke to each other politely, which was how any Redmond would speak to someone who felt rather like a stranger.
    “Very good. I wanted to speak to you of a business proposition, and as time is rather of the essence, I needed to speak to you about it before we departed.”
    Miles went still. Isaiah had never wanted to speak to him of a business proposition in his life. And the last proposition Miles had brought to his father —the financing of his extraordinarily expensive second journey to the South Seas—had been met by incredulity and cold dismissal.
    “Very well, sir,” Miles said cautiously.
    Isaiah strolled over to his polished walnut table, gestured a question with one hand to the brandy decanter. Two crystal glasses so clean they were nearly invisible flanked it. Miles gave his head a shake.
    “Have you given any thought to marriage?” His father said this evenly, his back turned, decanter in hand. Expensive brandy gurgled into a glass.
    Miles refused to allow his surprise to show. But this was Isaiah Redmond, after all. This was not a casual query.
    “A thought or two,” Miles said dryly. “A man does when he reaches my age.” Nearly thirty.
    His father turned slowly around, brandy glass cupped in his hand. He hesitated.
    “May I ask if you already have a particular bride in mind?”
    The hesitation amused Miles. No doubt his father thought visions of bluestockings danced in his second son’s head. Wait—a bluestocking wouldn’t dance. They would march —march with baskets of food hooked over their arms for the poor.
    “No. I haven’t a particular bride in mind,” Miles said calmly. “Though I should like her to have a brain in her head, a good family, a fortune, a pretty face.”
    A pause that seemed inordinately long ensued. Miles wondered which part of his sentence troubled his father. No doubt the brain part.
    “Do you…do you need to be in love?” his father asked grimly, at last.
    Miles stopped himself just in time from gaping. He did dig one of his fingernails hard into his palm to prevent laughter. Dear God . He wasn’t to have a conversation with his father about love , was he? He could not imagine anything less bearable. Not scorpion stings, nor overhearing cannibals discussing his fate.
    But all at once he recalled that “love”—for Olivia Eversea, that was—was what had allegedly caused Lyon to cast all reason to the wind and