Miss Mischief - A Regency Romance Read Online Free PDF

Millie would have felt that same wistful pang that pierced him. She had asked if she could go with him and he had hated to say no, despite the fact that the open road was no place for a gently bred girl just turned fourteen, even if that girl had a heart as staunch as his youngest sister. Naturally their mother had vetoed the request, but Marcus suspected that Millie would have done far better than most when facing the discomforts of the road, men included.
    If nothing else, the past few weeks had certainly toughened him up. He did not ride all the time but elected to walk for some miles every day, the better to exercise the muscles in his damaged leg. He’d half expected his body to object to such treatment but instead, days of riding and walking seemed to have a beneficial effect, especially when he took the time to stretch out the muscle and now he barely noticed any pain and his limp had virtually disappeared. He certainly hadn’t suffered on the journey, although sometimes it had been damned unpleasant, the weather turning on every imaginable mood the better to test him. Instead of finding the whole thing daunting, it had been exhilarating, even when it had been wretchedly cold.
    Still, he couldn’t stay away forever. He knew that perfectly well. While he might not have an estate to go back to he understood that his mother and sisters would be awaiting his return anxiously, still convinced that he was suffering from his experiences in France. The idea had given him pause when he’d considered it. Was he still suffering? When he had returned he had been plagued by nightmares, caught up in the cries of the fallen and the high-pitched screams of terror from the horses on the battlefield. Battle had been in every way hellish and he knew that he was not the only man who suffered ill-effects afterwards. But since he had been traveling the dreams had not come. Perhaps it was because he was so tired from a day in the saddle, but the moment he set his head down at night he slept, deeply and – it seemed – dreamlessly. Not that his family could know that. He had tried to alleviate whatever worries they might have by writing about amusing incidents that befell him along the road and could only hope that they would tolerate his absence for a little while yet.
    Besides, he had a return date in mind that he knew he would adhere to. Audrey’s birthday was at the end of May and he would not miss that. He had missed enough of them already. It seemed likely he would have to travel to London to celebrate it, for the preparations for the Season would be well underway. But there was plenty of time left to him before he must turn his mount’s head for home. Perhaps, he thought wryly, he had been making much ado about something that did not signify in the least and everything would fall into place when he returned. So he was a lord without anything to lord it over. It wasn’t as if he were unique. England was full of impecunious lords without a bean to bless themselves. Their tailors, he reflected, must be very forgiving.
    When hunger pangs hit at around midday he decided to stop and assuage them with some of the sandwiches he’d had made up before he’d left The Black Bull , an agreeable inn he had given his patronage to the night before. Dismounting, he led Hermes to a grassy patch and let the roan graze while he perched on a rock and enjoyed the tentative warmth of the sun on his face. It was a beautiful day, one of the nicest he had experienced so far and he was looking forward to more as the weather improved.
    ‘Perhaps I could become a wandering bard,’ he mused. ‘What a pity I’m so cursed hopeless at all things literary and musical. I wonder, Hermes, is it too late for me to take up the lute?’ Naturally, his horse treated this with the contempt it deserved.
    Unwrapping his sandwiches, he took a bite, relishing the strong cheese and tart pickle that the area was well known for (according to the landlord, anyway) and