The Short and Fascinating Tale of Angelina Whitcombe Read Online Free PDF Page A

well-endowed in that area.
    There was always that old wives’ tale about hands. Not that Angelina had found that true in her limited experience. Lord Alverley had possessed lovely hands but was quite diminished in other charms. Fortunately, he had also been possessed with a fortune and a kind, generous nature. She’d been his mistress for two years after reaching London. If he hadn’t chosen to be faithful upon marriage, she’d likely be his mistress still.
    She’d really been quite fortunate in her lovers. Gentlemen all. If only Lord Peter Denham had been possessed of a more independent mind and not swayed to betray Angelina by that horrible Lizzie.
    There she was again, thinking about the past.
    She could not change it. She could only bide her time and plan.
    And seduce John, who desired her but did not want to be seduced.
    Yesterday, she had returned to the inn convinced that he did indeed wish to be left alone, but tonight . . . tonight it seemed very clear that his mother was correct; he needed to be drawn out. He wanted to be drawn out.
    She imagined what the expression on his face would be when the following day he found her attempting an artistic rendition of his ruined castle yet again.

 
    C HAPTER F OUR
    J ohn woke with the sun. He stretched his arms and then propped his head on his hands and stared up at the thick wooden beams that crossed the ceiling. Next to him, Jasper was a warm pressure against his thigh. He liked waking here, with the last embers of the previous night’s fire still glowing red, as if he lived in a world apart, hidden.
    But something was different this morning.
    The castle had always held an open, unformed sense of possibility. It had been untouched by humans for at least a century; though he knew visitors had come, none had attempted to since he resided there. News traveled fast in small towns.
    Yet Angelina had come, and now he could still feel her presence here before the hearth, vibrating through him as solidly as Jasper’s snores.
    Disturbing.
    At least that sensation would dissipate quickly. The odd episode had passed and he could continue on as before. He pushed the blankets off and stood. Jasper made a plaintive noise and John glanced back down to find the collie staring at him, kicking his legs, tangling the covers more.
    He laughed and squatted down to run his hands briskly through Jasper’s fur. Then with two firm pats to the dog’s flank, he stopped and stood again. There was much to do today if he intended to have the castle fully habitable by next winter.
    He went about his morning ablutions, went down to the stream for more water, and then prepared his morning toast from one of the loaves of bread he took from the manor every Sunday. Then he unrolled the newest of his plans for the tower and studied them as he ate.
    It was a far cry from the first day he had explored the castle. He hadn’t been to the ruins since before entering Woolwich Academy as a cadet, but instantly he’d visualized the renovation project. He’d ordered all the newest literature on construction methods and innovations, and then had started working on his plans. In the five months that he’d been working on the castle, he’d made considerable progress. He’d started with simple things: cleaning the rubble out from the interior, ensuring the fireplace was in working order, fixing the holes in the roof of the great hall. Once he’d made himself a livable space, he’d moved out of the manor house and then progress had grown exponentially. He’d painstakingly dug down into the dirt floors of what had once been the kitchen and beneath the thick exterior walls to lay pipes for drainage. Now he was working on reconstructing the wood planks of the first floor.
    Armed with axe and saw, John ventured out of the castle just past noon to chop more wood for scaffolding. She was there again, the ribbons of her bonnet streaming behind her in