The Spare Read Online Free PDF

thinks his mouth gentle. I, however, to her replied that his is not so gentle as yours, my Lord."
    Fitzalan's eyebrows lifted. "Thank you, Miss Cage."
    Olivia faced the portrait again, absorbing the austere face. "Cold, those eyes," she said, thinking how different he seemed from Andrew. "As if he had no heart at all." A rather harsh opinion to hold of the man she used to imagine would fall helplessly in love with her. Not that she ever believed he would. Valorous sea captains might fall in love with redheaded spinsters, but, alas, noblemen did not.
    "Miss Willow," said Julia Cage. "We find him dreadfully handsome. Even if he were not a hero, all we ladies would think him quite the gallant. If you were still in your youth, I'm sure you'd feel the same."
    "Certainly," she said.
    "You see, Miss Willow?" Fitzalan said. "Not cold. Just stern. Don't you agree? As an officer must be."
    Olivia spoke softly. "Tell me, Lord Fitzalan, were you well acquainted with the previous earl?"
    "He stopped coming to London two or three years ago, but before that we saw each other now and again."
    "Since you have known them both, what is your opinion of him?" From the
corner of her eye, she saw Miss Cage watching and listening intently. The
subject of Tiern-Cope fascinated everyone.
    "Captain Alexander, or, I should say, Lord Tiern-Cope, may not have his brother's charm, but do not discount him on that score. He is—" Fitzalan tipped his head to one side, searching for the correct word "—formidable."
    Diana gasped. "He's been disfigured, hasn't he?"
    The room fell silent.
    "James?" Diana sat straight. One hand drifted to her bosom, and eyes big as sixpence fixed on her brother, pleading for a denial. "Maimed in the war," she said. "And ashamed to show his ruined face."
    A collective gasp came from the ladies. Were all their hopes, then, to be pinned not on an earl by all accounts eager to take a wife, but on a viscount who'd so far proved immune to marriage-minded ladies?
    Fitzalan's smile faded. "Surely, ladies, the allure of nobility and wealth will overcome the impact of any infirmities?"
    "He
is
disfigured." Diana closed her eyes. When she opened them, they glistened with tears. "How badly has he been scarred? Tell me, James. Please, I must know."
    "Nonsense, Miss Royce," Olivia said. "He was wounded in the chest. On the side, just here."
    Fitzalan said, "Who told you that?"
    The pile of coals in the fireplace tumbled down with a hiss and a flare of light. But that wasn't what made Olivia look away from the viscount. She looked away because the salon door swung open with a faint
whoosh
of air over the Chinese carpet, and the earl of Tiern-Cope walked in.
Chapter Three
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    Olivia's head flashed with a pain that left her momentarily blind. The air turned dense, too thick to breathe. In the middle of the maelstrom of sensation, just when she could see again and draw breath, there stood Andrew's brother, framed in the opening of the doorway. A mad impression dashed into her head: He wasn't real. Druid warriors must have magicked him into existence and let him loose to wreak havoc among dream-bound and waking mortals alike.
    God knows he had the Alexander looks: blue eyes, dark hair and a narrow face. The resemblance to Andrew was remarkable, but something in the face set him apart from other handsome men, indeed, from any other man she'd known. The sharp cheekbones, the confident way he held himself, but most especially the eyes. Where the other gentlemen were open and gregarious, the earl's eyes gave nothing away and put a frost on his smile. Nothing of Andrew's gentleness, Olivia thought. Nothing at all. The sea had washed away whatever gentleness he'd possessed.
    He stood perhaps an inch or two over six feet, but the impression of height came from his posture: rigidly upright. Tan breeches stretched taut over a flat belly and followed the shape of his thighs. His bottle-green coat, unbuttoned to show a gold-striped waistcoat