The Sixth Labyrinth (The Child of the Erinyes Book 4) Read Online Free PDF

steady.
    Isabel tugged Morrigan towards the street. “Will you join us, Mr. Ramsay? Come and break your fast at my brother’s inn.”
    “I’d love to,” he said.
    She gave the porter detailed instructions on what to do with their luggage then swept towards Stranraer proper, heels clicking on the cobblestones. “D’you care if we walk?” she asked. “It’s only a bit up the road and I feel the need to stretch my legs.”
    “Certainly.” Mr. Ramsay took Widdie’s reins and offered Morrigan his arm. His left brow came up, causing two horizontal lines to crease his forehead, and elongating the crescent scar.
    What would it be like… to touch it?
    She curled her hand obediently around his forearm, hoping he couldn’t feel her nervousness through his coat sleeve.
    Enid Joyce, enthroned on the seat of a shining victoria drawn by two matched bays, chose that moment to pass. Her well-fitted jacket, strung with lace, accented an hourglass figure. Blue eyes, beneath a head of perfectly coiffed hair, narrowed as the lass observed her rival so neatly ensconced on the arm of this handsome stranger.
    Morrigan had almost forgotten her shortcomings beneath Ramsay’s admiring regard. Now she remembered her bare head, snarled braid, and bitten fingernails. Her homespun dress, still littered with a few stubborn stickseeds and patches of dust, offered evidence of her time in the wild, and she was sure she smelled of horse. Next to Enid’s slim figure, Morrigan felt as cumbersome as an elephant seal. She shriveled, much like a blossom left too long without water.
    Of course Aunt Isabel had to pause and say good morning. Enid replied with easy smiling grace, as though she and Morrigan were lifelong comrades. The lass displayed her saucy dimple and for good measure fluttered long black lashes as she extended a hand encased in a lace-trimmed glove.
    “Now there’s a born lady,” Isabel said as Enid ordered her driver on. “See how her parasol draws attention to her hat? You’d never catch her without a hat.”
    Perhaps she noticed how her niece flinched, for she patted Morrigan’s shoulder, adding, “Still, you’ve a charm she lacks. I cannot put a name to it, really….” She gave their companion a roguish wink. “Don’t you agree, sir?”
    “Aye, indeed,” he replied. “A most intriguing and singular charm.”
    Isabel’s face exuded satisfaction, and Morrigan realized what was truly going on. Her aunt had dragged this poor, unsuspecting fellow here, using trickery, no doubt, for the sole purpose of meeting her. She’d die if he perceived he was being paraded as a candidate for marriage. His fine suit proclaimed his wealth and his manner of speech almost screamed expensive education . Heaven knew what Isabel thought he’d find appealing in a penniless innkeeper’s daughter who’d only been allowed eight years in an unpolished, rural school.
    She lowered her face to hide her mortification.
    Aunt Isabel would drag Crown Prince Edward himself to Morrigan’s door if she could manage it. Aye, she would.
    And no doubt she would expect the prince to display humble appreciation over his good fortune, since he was, after all, naught but a damned Englishman.

CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    “WHERE THE DEVIL have you been?”
    It took all of Morrigan’s will to keep from seizing her skirts and running at the sight of Douglas Lawton’s scowl. His eyes were as icy as half-melted slush.
    “Widdie n-needed a run. I meant to be home sooner.”
    Mr. Ramsay’s arm tightened, squeezing her hand against his ribs. The gesture lent her a momentary sense of courage, and was accompanied by a feeling of sparks, like wool blankets being rubbed together.
    “I waylaid her at the train station and made her wait for us,” Isabel snapped. “Are you no’ going to acknowledge that I’m here?”
    His brows lifted. No one in his own household would ever dare speak to him in such a tone. “I see that you’re here, Isabel,” he said, and bent so