The Barefoot Princess Read Online Free PDF Page A

brushing them lightly with her fingertips. She checked to see if any soot came off, if he suffered from some peculiar desire for black brows, but it appeared nature had created that improbable combination of hair color and facial hair.
    It was a curious thing to hold a vital man under her control. Odd and intoxicating. Musing aloud, she said, “I wonder if his body hair is red or black.”
    Miss Victorine gasped. “Amy! That is nothing that a proper young lady such as yourself should concern herself about.”
    Although Amy had tried to explain the life she’d led before she had made her way to the isle of Summerwind, Miss Victorine couldn’t comprehend her background. Miss Victorine knew only that Amy was nineteen years old and had the manner of a princess—which she truly was, although Amy would never admit that to anyone here.
    Yet the two of them had something in common—a wicked, mischievous streak, so Amy grinned at Miss Victorine. “Probably I shouldn’t concern myself with his body hair; I do it to please you.”
    “Most certainly not.” Miss Victorine sounded prim, but she scooted her chair closer. “I have never seen an unclad male form in my life, and I haven’t suffered for the lack.”
    “By an extraordinary coincidence, I haven’t seen an unclad male form in my life, either. I’d say it’s time to remedy the situation.” Tugging his shirt open, Amy peered down at his chest.
    “We can’t look at him when he’s unconscious! It’s…it’s immoral.” Miss Victorine fanned herself with her handkerchief.
    Coal watched the white cotton as if contemplating how it would shred.
    “Dear Miss Victorine, we abducted him from his own estate. I hardly think sneaking a peek at his chest compares.” Letting his shirt drop back, Amy added, “Besides, we looked at his face .”
    “That’s different.” Miss Victorine leaned closer. “What color is it?”
    “What color is what?” Amy teased.
    “You know. The hair on his body.”
    Amy flashed her a grin. “Red.”
    “Appropriate,” Miss Victorine said crisply.
    “Why do you say that?”
    “You’re gazing upon the gateway to hell.”
    “I don’t think I looked that far,” Amy said reflectively. “Here, help me put him under the covers. I doubt if he wakes before morning.”

    “Mr. Edmondson!” Royd, the butler, stood in the doorway of the study at Harrison Edmondson’s London home. “There’s a messenger come from Summerwind in Devon, and he says it’s urgent!”
    Harrison Edmondson, Jermyn’s uncle and his business manager, wondered if luck had done what planning and stealth could not. He doubted it; success had never felt so far away as in these last few weeks, and if he didn’t bring matters to a satisfactory conclusion soon, he’d be the great-uncle of a bouncing baby boy who would be the heir to the whole grand and glorious Edmondson fortune.
    As he remembered the list of possible brides he’d been ordered to submit to his arrogant twit of a nephew, his hands curled into claws.
    Give him a pistol and he could do the job himself.
    Hell, he didn’t even need a pistol. He glanced toward the glass-front cabinet he kept in his office. Inside was a variety of interesting weapons—French poison rings, Italian daggers that popped out to surprise the victim, a sword hidden in a cane…
    And when committing murder, no planning, no weapon could compete with an opportunity presented and seized.
    He knew that. He had seized opportunity before.
    The messenger crowded in behind Royd, splattered with mud, his chest heaving from his hard ride. With a tug of his forelock, he presented Harrison a stained, slashed missive. He gasped, “Footman found it…in the gazebo…affixed with a knife.”
    “My good man!” Royd remonstrated, a fearful eye trained on Harrison. “You can’t burst into Mr. Edmondson’s presence in such a manner!”
    Harrison waved his butler to silence. In a soft, measured tone that promised retribution, he said, “If