Miss Prestwick's Crusade Read Online Free PDF

course, precisely what she believed of him, but she had not intended to be so transparent in her speech.
    "No!” she blurted hastily. “That is—no, of course not."
    Mr. Beresford lifted skeptical brows but did not pursue the subject further. He moved to the silent Miss Barnstaple. “May I?” he asked, extending his arms for the infant, who had once again fallen asleep.
    Glancing at Miss Prestwick, the older woman, with an incoherent murmur, relinquished the baby. Settling the child into a comfortable position, Edward drew aside the blanket and subjecting the tiny form to an intense scrutiny. Could this really be Chris's son? Edward's first instinct was to dismiss the whole situation as a tissue of lies from start to finish.
    Still, what if it had happened as Miss Prestwick had described? What if this insignificant little scrap of humanity was the legitimate son of the eleventh Earl of Camberwell and his countess? Edward drew a finger along the incredibly soft perfection of the child's cheek. The rosebud mouth opened suddenly and turned toward the intrusion before sinking once more into an apparently dreamless slumber. Carefully, Edward returned William to Miss Barnstaple's care, then turned to Miss Prestwick.
    "Well, dear lady, you have accomplished your purpose. No, no,” he continued hastily as her velvet eyes widened. “I have by no means accepted your improbable tale. However, I cannot in all conscience simply turn you and the child out. I shall look into the matter.” He steepled his fingers in what he hoped was an authoritative, judicious gesture. “I shall contact the family solicitor and instruct him to hire investigators. If there is a shred of evidence to support your claim, we will discover it. Conversely, if your tale proves fraudulent, as I must admit seems the case to me as of this moment, you will be subject to whatever punishment the law metes out for such transgressions.” He drew a long breath. “In the meantime, allow me to welcome you into my home—or, at least"—he smiled thinly— “into the home of the Earl of Camberwell, whoever he might be."
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    Chapter Four
    Helen sank back in her chair, quivering with relief. She had done it! She had stormed the citadel of the evil usurper and emerged victorious! Well, perhaps not victorious—not yet, at any rate. She knew she was being absurdly melodramatic, but she had been so very fearful that Mr. Beresford would simply drive her from his home with a fiery sword, threatening unnamed but unpleasant retribution should she ever darken his door again.
    From his position across the room, Edward gazed at her, nonplussed. Had he done the right thing? Perhaps he should have turned Miss Prestwick away, agreeing to look into the matter. He could have told her he would contact her later if he found any facts to substantiate her claim. He could have set a few inquiries into motion which, in all probability, would come to nothing, and he might never hear from her again.
    Oddly, this thought created a hollow feeling that spiraled down to his toes. He refused to examine this sensation. After all, he was not a spotty-faced adolescent slavering over an attractive woman. But she wasn't just attractive, was she? Her eyes were exceptionally compelling, and her form more than usually graceful and, er, well crafted. However, he reflected dizzily, it was not just her physical attributes—outstanding as they were in every respect—that drew him like a compass needle to true north. Somehow, he felt like a man who, after wandering in a frozen, very lonely wilderness for a very long time, had just been offered shelter by a warm fire. It was, he supposed, the expression in those clear gray eyes. It spoke of warmth and wit and intelligence and ... a quality he could not define. He only knew he wanted more of it. He'd always scoffed at the idea of love at first sight, but something in him—perhaps a boyish dream he had not entirely put