The Pretender Read Online Free PDF

bride of his son, Reginald.
    Before she had been left alone with Repulsive Reggie, with his sweaty hands on her body and his slimy tongue in her mouth.
    She had managed to avoid Reggie for most of her life, neighbors though they be. She'd learned very young that he was not to be trusted.
    Quickly she shut her mind to that older memory, so swiftly that only a brief vision of Reggie's sweating teenage face appeared, silhouetted against a cloudy summer sky while she fought him off with small childish hands.
    He isn't here.
    She was safe from him here as she had been for the past several years at Appleby. But that hadn't lasted forever, had it?
    It had only been through her reluctance to offend Lord Fistingham that he and his son, Reggie, had managed to be let into Appleby last month.
    His lordship had come to pursue an agenda of his own.
    "You're an orphan, gel. Not a soul in the world to look after you. It's my duty to see you set."
    "Jamie will look out for me, my lord," Agatha had argued. She hadn't thought claiming she could look after herself would have done her any good with an old-fashioned fellow like his lordship.
    "Ah, but young James is dead, make no mistake. You must get beyond this foolishness and face the truth. You're all alone in the world, doomed to starve."
    "Hardly that," she'd muttered dryly. She was fairly sure that Appleby brought in a larger income than Fistingham, for it was better managed by far. Not to mention that her accounts had not the constant drain of a useless gambling sot of a son.
    "Nonsense. No woman can get by without a man. But I've taken care of that. Your father—ah, how I miss dear Jems— would have wanted me to."
    Agatha had striven to seem respectful, for Lord Fistingham had been the closest thing her father had ever had to a friend. The unworthy thought crossed her mind that Lord Fistingham had only made the occasional appearance to hit his dear "Jems" up for a loan.
    And her father would only blink dimly and write a generous cheque, never questioning the amount and never asking to be repaid. Although knowing Papa's complete disregard for anything but the realm of numbers and formulas, that likely had more to do with a total disinterest in money than actual generosity.
    Then his lordship had outlined his plan to bring their great estates together under the name of Fistingham. Agatha had barely listened, mentally tallying her books while she nodded away.
    Until she had realized with cold sinking horror that Lord Fistingham's plans included marriage. A proposal that he was not going to let her refuse. At first she'd been afraid he'd wanted to marry her himself.
    Then her situation had become even more dangerous.
    "You'll marry Reggie straightaway. You've no choice, gel. I've control of everything now, you see. With young Jems gone, your father's will turns it all over to me until you marry, at which time it will go to your husband."
    She'd frantically tried to remember the reading of the will, but only the shadow of her grief came to mind. Still, she hadn't doubted for a moment that it was true. How like her father to turn her welfare over to a stranger. And why not? He'd practically been a stranger himself since her mother had died.
    "But I've run Appleby for years! I'm perfectly capable of tending my own affairs!"
    "Oh, I know young Jems let you play steward now and again, the silly boy. He's fortunate you didn't do much damage." Lord Fistingham had stood then, his formerly mild gaze sharpening suddenly on his son. "Time for you to wed, gel. Reggie, see to convincing your bride."
    "Yes, Father." Reginald had smiled winningly at Agatha.
    His lordship had left then, removing the key from the lock and closing the door carefully behind him. Agatha could still remember how that click had resonated through her nerves like a screamed warning.
    For romantic persuasion had not been part of Repulsive Reggie's plan. As soon as his father had quit the room, he'd been on her. He'd clawed at her