The Bride Sale Read Online Free PDF Page A

debaucheries?
    The subject of her thoughts launched himself into the coach, seated himself next to her, and pulled the door behind him. His thigh brushed against hers,and Verity flinched as though singed. She scooted across the bench as far as she could and pressed up against the side panel. She fixed her gaze out the window, studying the plain granite wall that faced her.
    â€œAre you…quite comfortable?” Lord Harkness asked.
    Verity nodded without turning to look at him.
    â€œPendurgan is less than five miles away,” he continued in an awkward-sounding tone. “We should be there in three-quarters of an hour or so.”
    Pendurgan. Even the name was frightening. She was going to a place called Pendurgan with a man called Heartless. Heaven help her.
    The carriage lurched and pulled away. Verity grabbed the strap and hung on for her life.

Chapter 2
    J ames drummed his fingers on the window ledge of the carriage. He had never felt so stupid in all his life. He had just bought and paid for a young woman. Now, what the devil was he supposed to do with her?
    What had possessed him to do such a rash, impulsive thing? He should have known better. He ought to have stayed out of it, walked away from the market square without a second thought. God knows, he had no business bringing a young woman into his home. Not after all that had happened. And yet he had signed a paper accepting full responsibility for her. How could he have done such a damned fool thing?
    And how was he to explain her to his household? He couldn’t exactly trot her out like a new race horse,or deposit her in Mrs. Tregelly’s care as though she were a new kitchen maid. Blast it all, he wished she were in fact some scruffy bit of baggage that could be dumped in the scullery and forgot about. But it had been obvious that she was of his own class, gentry at the very least. She had to be dealt with. Somehow.
    And there was Agnes to consider. How was he to explain her to Agnes?
    By morning everyone from Liskeard to Truro would have heard the tale, each making his own conclusions about James’s plans for the woman. It did not take a superior mind to anticipate what those conclusions would be.
    Bloody hell. He was to be the center of a scandal once again.
    He looked over at her, but she was turned, pressed close against the door panel. No doubt she wished to avoid even the slightest contact with her new—what? Owner? But she was not his slave. Employer? She was not his servant, either. Husband? Certainly not.
    What the devil was she, then? And what the hell was he supposed to do with her?
    She would not even look at him, for God’s sake. He might have known what to do if she had been a weepy, fragile young thing who looked to him for security, who clung to him as her savior after such a public humiliation. He would not have minded that, to have her cling to him. He recalled the full bosom revealed by Moody’s hands. But she did not cling. She did not sob or swoon. Neither did she rant or shout about the injustice of her circumstances.
    She did none of those things, damn her eyes, and so he did not know what to do.
    She kept one hand at her waist, gripping the edge of her cloak, while the other held on to the strap so tightly James thought she might rip it out of the panel. And she kept her gaze fixed firmly out the window, the poke of her bonnet shielding her face.
    He had, though, got a pretty good look at her—Verity, the husband had called her—when he stood before her at the base of the old market cross. She had been all huge brown eyes, wide with apprehension, set in a face of unnatural pallor. Though she tried to stand tall, she was slightly below average in height, the top of her head coming to just below his chin. And she had been shivering as violently as though just lifted from an icy sea. He recognized the great effort of will it had cost her to bring the trembling under control. She made the effort still,