Patrica Rice Read Online Free PDF

your aunt’s looking like a ragamuffin would you? And that would certainly take as much time as waiting for the coach. It’s decided then. Shall you have tea with us?”
    Another hour passed before Blanche was able to send Miss MacOwen on a tour of the house with the housekeeper so she could confront Michael alone. She had learned Michael’s tendency to disappear when things became complicated or emotions ran high. As Fiona left with the housekeeper, Blanche glared at the intelligent but elusive man immersed in an illustrated history of the Tudors. “Has no one taught you it is rude to read while entertaining guests?”
    Michael looked up and in the blink of an eye, removed himself from the sixteenth century to the present. “Fiona isn’t a guest. She’s a disaster waiting to happen. There’s no such thing as Elton Avenue. It’s Elton Alley, and I’ll not punish your ears with a description of the inhabitants. Suffice it to say, it’s not a place for young girls. I’ll ride into the city and see if I can find this aunt. I wish you could have pried a name from her.”
    “Since she’s likely lying about the name she’s given us, I don’t imagine she’d tell the truth about her aunt, either. Did you see her hands? She’s gently bred, Michael. They’re red and cracked from whatever she’s done lately, because they’ve never been submitted to such treatment before. And she’s nervous, so nervous she clung to her teacup to keep from chewing her fingernails. At one point, she even shoved her hands under her to steady them.”
    “She doesn’t have any fingernails left to chew,” he said dryly, putting down the book and taking the seat beside Blanche. “I’ve tried all I know to work her tongue loose, but she keeps close guard on it. I tried ale, but she won’t drink the stuff.”
    Blanche grimaced. “Can’t blame her for that. Perhaps some sherry this evening, on top of wine at dinner. How long do you think we can hold her before she leaves on her own?”
    “Not long. I’ll leave for London this evening. I have the feeling she thinks someone is after her, and she may bolt to protect us from whatever she fears.”
    Blanche suffered a twinge of alarm, then realizing Michael would never have brought danger here, she calmed enough to answer sensibly. “Surely she must realize she’s safe in Anglesey with an army of servants between her and the outside world.”
    Michael shrugged and idly shredded one of the tea cakes the maid had not yet removed. “Abused children never feel safe. Someone or something has terrified her.”
    His hostess sat hesitantly upon the gold sofa, her frail gown a bare wisp of material over curves so slender Michael longed to mold them in his hands. He stared down at his hands in incredulity. He’d used them for many things. Other men learned by reading books or listening to lectures, but he learned by touching. He could build a house of bricks and straw, or of jewels and gold. He’d molded clay and dough in his lifetime.
    He’d never wasted time giving thought to molding breasts. But at the sight of this lady far beyond his limited means, physical desire flooded through him. Hastily, he rose and headed for the door.
    “I think she’ll talk more freely when we’re in private,” Blanche said, jarring him back from the dark alleys where his thoughts had strayed.
    “That’s what I hoped.” With door latch safely in hand, he could think more clearly. He had hoped talk might reduce the evidence of his desire, but Blanche drifted closer, and his body reacted accordingly. He opened the door, prepared for escape.
    “I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “We’ll have an early supper, and I’ll draw her out while you linger in the dining room.”
    Michael could feel Blanche’s quizzical gaze, but he didn’t dare meet her eyes. “Talk about her family. Usually, the trouble lies there. I’ll check on the horses.”
    Michael fled the room. Dragging in a deep breath, he took