On a Long Ago Night Read Online Free PDF

the girl," James insisted. He half-
    suspected that he was the victim of a cruel joke. The
    suspicion caused him a twinge of guilt, but learning to
    trust a man who claimed to have his best interests at heart
    was something that came hard to him.
    "I truly had no suspicion your mysterious merchant's
    daughter and the duke could be related. Pyneham's quite
    proud of his girl, but that's what he calls her: 'my girl,' or
    'my daughter.' The last time I saw her was at her
    christening. Oddly enough, I can recall the church and the
    service quite well." He closed his eyes briefly and ticked
    the names off on his fingers as he spoke them.
    "Alexandra Margaret Frances… Honoria…" His eyes
    opened. "Ah. I remember now." The viscount raised a
    hand to his forehead. "I know the duke of Pyneham's
    titles, and the nicknames we gave him at school. But I
    haven't heard the family name in years, and as I said, I
    thought your Honoria was a merchant's daughter."
    A sense of darkness threatened to overwhelm James.
    At the same time his temper stirred, telling him that this
    woman had made a fool of him—not just this evening,
    but for years. He stood slowly, and carefully set the
    brandy snifter down rather than hurl it angrily into the
    fireplace. He didn't show his building fury, but spoke
    with all the careful neutrality covering his emotions he'd
    learned from years serving Ibrahim Rais. "My quest is
    over, at least."
    "On the contrary, I would say that it has barely
    begun," his father responded.
    James made a small negating gesture. "I found her.
    She clearly wants nothing to do with me. She has the
    power and freedom to do whatever she wishes, and she
    will not wish to be with me."
    The viscount rose to face him. "Can you let that
    matter, James? You are on a quest, a mission. Nothing
    has changed."
    "Everything has changed." James just managed not
    to howl the words in anguish. He cursed himself, and her,
    and the letter that had brought them together in the first
    place.
    His
    English
    father
    steadfastly
    refused
    to
    acknowledge either his defeat, or any sense of drama.
    "Nonsense." He put a restrained hand on James's
    arm. "You came to England to marry Honoria Pyne, and
    that is exactly what you are going to do."

Chapter 3

    "Read this!" Honoria's voice was shrill above the
    gentle sound of morning rain pattering against the library
    windows.
    The duke came around from behind his desk to meet
    her. His face was gray with strain and he did not look as
    if he had slept any better than she had. "Honoria, about
    last night. I am most disturbed—"
    Honoria waved the letter in front of her father's face,
    too perturbed to have her usual care for his feelings. "The
    devil with last night, sir. Read this."
    "Your correspondence does not concern me, young
    lady. It is your reprehensible behavior that does." He
    drew himself up to his full height and declared, "You are
    spoiled and willful and—"

    "Spoiled and willful you may be," the Spanish corsair told
    her. "But you belong to the Bey of Algiers now."
    "Do I indeed?" The words were meant to be spoken
    with arrogant defiance but somehow they seemed to come
    out closer to a sultry purr as she looked up at his blurred
    form through lowered lids. She did not understand why
    she spoke as she did, or why she shivered instead of
    bristled when a wide flash of smile briefly crossed the
    Spaniard's bearded face. She had no idea why he'd had
    her brought to his quarters, away from Derrick's side in
    the hold of the galley. She was determined to defy him no
    matter what he wanted from her. She stood up straight
    and glared. "I belong to no one, Spaniard."
    She didn't know why she assumed he was Spanish,
    other than that it was the language in which he had
    addressed her. The aged Oxford scholar who had taught
    her Hebrew, Turkish, and Arabic in the staid
    surroundings of a country house library had seemed more
    of an Ottoman to her than the man who now held her
    captive. Except for his