The Heart Denied Read Online Free PDF Page A

same for the steward from behind this very desk. Passing Arthur a glass, Thorne saw his thoughts reflected in the old brown eyes. "To my father," he murmured, raising his glass.
    "To Lord Neville," Arthur agreed, doing likewise. "Past and present."
    Thorne's glass stayed high. "And to Arthur Pennington, our loyal steward and friend. How long has it been?"
    "Thirty years, M'lord. Yet even now I can picture your father sitting in that chair and looking as young as you."
    The whiskey sent flames coursing down Thorne's throat and into his belly, where it settled in a pleasant pool of warmth. Turning his glass to and fro in his fingers, he watched the amber liquid swirl and shift. "I find myself in a quandary, Arthur."
    "Over what, sir?"
    Thorne grimaced. "You'll not make this any easier, will you."
    "Nothing involving a woman is easy," Arthur said with a lopsided smile.
    Thorne knocked back the rest of the dram and set the glass down. "She's a bold one, to be so young."
    A flicker of concern crossed Arthur's face. "There's something to be said for boldness," he allowed, "within reason."
    Thorne chuckled. "She is Radleigh's daughter, after all."
    "Aye. And hence rather homely, I'd guess."
    "No, quite comely. And well-schooled, and most virtuous." Thorne poured a second glass with a flourish and extended the bottle.
    Arthur held out his glass. "Well, you'd expect virtuosity, wouldn't you, what with her being raised in a convent and all?"
    "Yes. But once we're wed, she'll surely shed some of her more rigid notions."
    Arthur's mouth opened and closed.
    "What? If you've something to say, then say it."
    Cupping the glass of whiskey in his hands, Arthur sat back in the chair. "Very well. Where's the need for haste? You're young, and whatever attraction you feel for the girl is merely carnal at this stage." Arthur's leathery cheeks turned ruddy. "Courtship is no luxury, M'lord, 'tis a necessity. Love requires time to grow. My Anna and I-"
    "I see no point in waiting. 'Twas my father's wish that I marry Radleigh's daughter. Little enough for me to promise a dying man."
    Arthur leaned forward in his chair. "Little? And your loyalty is commendable, but what of the rumors? What if Radleigh has gambled away his fortune, perhaps even his daughter's dowry? Would your father hold you to your promise, knowing that?"
    Thorne gave a snort. "Any decline in Radleigh's finances is likely due to the bloody taxes the Crown levies on him for his Roman Catholic loyalties. At any rate, he's given up the tables. He told me so over brandy last eve."
    "Thorne--M'lord." Arthur shook his head with an air of weary patience. "You know as well as I that if Radleigh has forsworn the gaming tables, he's likely up to his eyeballs in debt."
    "Time will tell."
    "Aye, I fear it will. Meanwhile, what of love? There's a debt that won't go unpaid, I assure you."
    Thorne sighed, dragging his feet off the desk. "Marriages are made every day for naught but fortune, pedigree and politics, Arthur. And what bloody good has love ever done anyone?"
    Arthur looked aggrieved. "Your parents-"
    "Were fools."
    Arthur recoiled in his seat. "I was about to say they loved one another dearly!"
    "Yes, and all the more suffered for it! And lest you think me a blathering idiot, I have it on my father's dying word." Thorne tossed the whiskey down his gullet as he rose, then slammed the glass down and paced to a window. He stared out at the sparkling beck and the field of young wheat beyond, seeing none of it.
    Arthur sounded quiet but insistent. "Whatever his lordship said, 'twas likely the laudanum talking. Delirium at best."
    "'Twas my father." Thorne turned a hard stare on the steward. " His voice, his eyes. His hand that gripped my arm with more strength than he'd shown in months. 'Twas he who warned me to guard my heart from anything the least akin to love. 'Marry the girl, as I've promised her father, and sire a family,' he told me. 'But never let your heart be taken. Love, my son, is