Scandal's Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

locked with
Jamie's, "Seamus thought better of it, and allowed me to live as The Lady
wishes, at the manor." She paused, eyes steady, giving everyone time to
feel the weight behind her words. Then she raised her brows. "Do you truly
wish to set your will against that of The Lady?"
    Jamie blanched. "No, no! We just thought you might like to…"He
gestured vaguely.
    Catriona looked down and picked up her spoon. "I'm perfectly
content at the manor."
    The matter was closed. Jamie exchanged a glance with Mary at the other
end of the table; she shrugged lightly and grimaced. Other members of the
family shot quick glances at Catriona, then rapidly looked away.
    Richard didn't; he continued to study her. Her authority was remarkable,
she used it like a shield. She'd put it up and Jamie, poor sod, had run
headlong into it. Richard recognized the ploy; she'd tried the same with him
with her "
Put me down
," but he'd been too experienced to
fall for it—she'd been all woman once he'd got his hands on her, soft, warm,
and pliant. The thought of having his hands on her again, of having her warm,
pliant, feminine flesh beneath him, made him shift in his seat.
    And focused his mind even more. On why, exactly, he found her so…
appealing. She wasn't, in fact, classically beautiful; she was more powerfully
attractive than that. It was, he decided, noting the independent set of her
too-determined chin, the underlying sense of wildness that caught him—caught
and focused his hunter's instincts so forcefully. Her aura of mystery, of
magic, of feminine forces too powerful for simple words, was an open challenge
to a man like him.
    A bored rake like him.
    She would never have been acceptable within the ton; that hint of the
wild was far too strong for society's palate. She was no meek miss; she was
different, and used no guile to conceal it. Her confidence, her presence, her
authority had led him to think her in her late twenties; now he could see her
more clearly, he realized that wasn't so. Early twenties. Which made her
assurance and self confidence even more intriguing. More challenging.
    Richard set down his goblet; he'd had enough of cold silence. "Have
you lived at this manor long, Miss Hennessy?"
    She looked up, faint surprise in her eyes. "All my life, Mr.
Cynster."
    Richard raised his brows. "Where, exactly, is it?"
    "In the Lowlands." When he waited, patently wanting more, she
added: "The manor stands in the Vale of Casphairn, which is a valley in
the foothills of Merrick." Licking trifle from her spoon, she considered
him. "That's—"
    "In the Galloway Hills," he returned.
    Her brows rose. "Indeed."
    "And who is your landlord?"
    "No one." When he again raised his brows, she explained:
"I own the manor—I inherited it from my parents."
    Richard inclined his head. "And this lady you speak of?"
    The smile she gave him was ageless. "The Lady." The cadence of
her voice changed, investing her words with reverence. "She Who Knows
All."
    "Ah." Richard blinked. "I see." And he did.
Christianity might rule in London and the towns, and in the Parliament, but the
auld ways, the doctrines of days past, still held sway in the countryside. He
had grown up in rural Cambridgeshire, in the fields and copses seeing the old
women gathering herbs, hearing of their balms and potions that could cure a
large spectrum of mortal ills. He'd seen too much to be skeptical, and knew
enough to treat any such practitioner with due respect.
    She'd held his gaze steadily; Richard saw the gleam of triumph, of
victorious smugness in her eyes. She thought she'd successfully warned him
off—scared him away. Inwardly, his grin was the very essence of predatory;
outwardly, his expression said nothing at all.
    "Catriona?"
    They both turned to see Mary rising and beckoning; Catriona rose, too,
and joined the female exodus to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to
their port.
    Which was, to Richard's immense relief, excellent. Twirling his glass,
he considered the ruby