Susanne Marie Knight Read Online Free PDF

gotten out of today’s shopping expedition on the condition that she’d be dressed and ready by the time Petunia returned to the townhouse. Petunia had been most insistent, and Bethany could not go back on her word.
    Taking a sip of cold tea, she felt her stomach growl. Obviously she needed more sustenance than liquids. She’d forgone the pleasure of breakfast this morning to concentrate on writing. After all, why think of food when she could put pen to paper instead?
    For a moment she dwelt upon her handsome hero, Lord Innis. She smiled and sighed at the same time. When she imagined this character, she pictured her host, Lord Ingraham. That was another of her little secrets — never to be revealed. There could be no doubt about it; he would become incensed if he ever learned that he figured in a Gothic novel.
    Her grin widened.
    But now the ormolu clock read a quarter past two. She hurried to dress. The townhouse contained a large library, or so Petunia had said. Bethany could pass the time perusing books.

    “I am excessively glad to be back in London, David. The company in Bath was beginning to thin most intolerably.” Olive Greyle took a sip of tea then discarded the cup in its saucer. She sat back on the settee and cast a fond glance over at her companion. “Fenwick and I were at sixes and sevens, deciding what we should do next.”
    David had not seen his mother since leaving for France in May. Physically, she was unaltered. Still pleasantly plump. Still dressed in the first stare of fashion. But she now had an animation about her that had been absent six months ago. The cause for her vibrancy was not difficult to discern. The man on the settee, Randolph Fenwick, was the reason.
    Fenwick, a slender man closer in age to David than the Countess’, was a rumpled-looking fellow. Unkempt dark red hair, large liquid brown eyes, a rather sorrowful expression — the sort of man women often described as romantic.
    More boldly put — good in the bedchamber; useless in a crisis.
    In the tub-shaped chair across from her, David studied his mother and amended his thought about being unaltered. A beam of fading sunlight from the nearby window caught the Countess’ hair. Instead of its original light brown color, her hair gave off a distinctly reddish glow.
    Henna? Was she so smitten with this Fenwick character that she resorted to artifice? Was the color intended to mimic Fenwick’s red hair?
    The conversation continued without him, so he brought his attention back to his mother’s words.
    “But Fenwick, dear, you must stay here with us. ’Tis not to be borne for you to take inferior lodging at a hotel.”
    Good God! Evidently the Countess had become dicked in the nob during David’s absence from England. Even the impropriety of the suggestion that her cicisbeo stay —
    “My lady, it is very good of you to offer. However, I wouldn’t dream of imposing upon you and the earl,” Fenwick said smoothly. He slid his limpid gaze from the Countess to David. “I have made arrangements to stay at the Clarendon.”
    Before his mother could register her protest, David tilted his head. “Excellent choice. I am certain you will enjoy your accommodations.”
    Not that he cared a whit about the fellow’s enjoyment. Personally, he wished Fenwick to the devil.
    Or rather, to the point: when would the bounder take his leave?
    Sometimes a butler could anticipate his master’s desires. Perhaps Stevens would enter the drawing room with an urgent message, triggering Fenwick’s departure.
    David eyed the open door out into the corridor. If he concentrated hard enough, Stevens just might appear.
    A head did appear but it wasn’t the butler’s. His houseguest, Miss Branford, peeked into room.
    “Oh! Please excuse me.” Her cheeks blushed vivid pink with embarrassment. “I was looking for the library.”
    David stood and quickly strode over to the doorframe. The girl was just as lovely as yesterday. Perhaps even more so, since she