Murder While I Smile Read Online Free PDF Page A

with the broad shoulders of a sportsman. His crow-black hair grew in a dramatic widow’s peak. Finely drawn eyebrows over cool gray eyes lent him an ascetic touch. It was his strong nose and square jaw that gave authority to his face, and his haughty smile that gave it a touch of arrogance. A blue jacket of Bath cloth clung to his shoulders like paper on a wall. His modest cravat was immaculate, his buckskins the same, and his Hessians as bright as mirrors. And on top of it all, he owned an abbey and was a marquess. Those last two, she felt, were the attributes that would excite the comtesse’s interest.
    All of this flashed through her mind in a second, then Luten smiled and held out his arms, and she rushed into them to be thoroughly kissed.
    “Did you miss me?” he asked, in a husky voice unlike his usual bored drawl.
    “Desperately.” She held his hand tightly as she led him to the sofa. “How did everything go with the farm?”
    “I hired a bailiff to take care of it. I’ll probably sell it. It’s a hundred miles from the abbey, too far away for me to conveniently keep an eye on it and not large enough for us to keep for our second son. And what’s new here?”
    Her heart swelled in pleasure at that casual “second son,” which suggested a long and happy marriage.
    “Prance has fallen into a wretched muddle,” she said.
    “The Rondeaux are not leaping off the shelf, I take it? The deadweight of all that poesy suggests it would require a derrick to hoist them. We must give him a hand.”
    “He can hardly give them away, but that is not what I mean.” She outlined the situation, just mentioning the comtesse’s age and lack of character.
    “And on top of Prance fancying himself in love, Coffen is going to buy a horrid old picture from her—for a thousand pounds.”
    He patted her fingers indulgently. “It seems I returned just in time. Fear not, my dear, I shall handle Yvonne.”
    Corinne’s heart leapt in her chest. She had not mentioned the comtesse’s Christian name. So Luten already knew her. That he called her Yvonne suggested a certain intimacy. With such a woman, there was only one sort of intimacy that came to mind.
    “Oh, you know her?” she said, staring at him in surprise that was already tinged with mistrust.
    “I have her acquaintance,” he replied.
    Before Corinne could learn more, the door knocker sounded and within seconds Coffen and Sir Reggie came in.
    “Saw your rig arrive,” Coffen said. “Saw you dart over here. Gave you two a few minutes alone, then came along to welcome you back.”
    “I tried in vain to restrain him,” Reggie said, with an air of apology. “How did it go in Somerset, Luten?”
    “I’ve put the farm up for sale or rent. The next-door neighbor is interested, but he wants it as a gift.”
    “If you manage to sell it,” Coffen said, “I can put you on to some bargains in art. I’m buying a Poosan from Comtesse Chamaude. She’s French.”
    “Yes, the ‘Comtesse’ gave me a hint,” Luten replied. “I was just telling Corinne I know the lady.”
    Prance flew into a frenzy of excitement. “You know her? Who is she? Is she really a countess? You wouldn’t know her age? And what, exactly, is her relationship with Yarrow?”
    Corinne listened with both ears cocked, scrutinizing every word that left Luten’s lips for clues to his past relationship with the woman.
    “Yes, she is actually a countess. One of the émigrés who were chased out of France by Robespierre in the last century. The only other member of the family who made it was Chamaude’s mama, who died a decade ago. The elder Lady Chamaude brought a load of jewels with her and was able to set up in some style. She eventually married a large landowner from Yorkshire.”
    “Odd we didn’t hear of our comtesse sooner,” Prance said.
    “The old lady wouldn’t sponsor her into Society. Pity, for she would certainly have made a brilliant match, when she was younger.”
    “What age would