The Spinster's Secret Read Online Free PDF Page A

confessions weren’t something that he would wish a lady to read, but they were harmless enough entertainment for gentlemen.
    Breath whistled in Strickland’s throat. His face was alarmingly flushed.
    “I’ll ring for a servant, sir. You should rest in bed.”
    “No,” the old man said stubbornly, wheezing. “I must find her…”
    Edward resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He stood and glanced around the study. A decanter of sherry sat on a narrow sideboard. He strode to the sideboard, poured a healthy slug into a glass, and took it back to Strickland.
    The man took the glass. “I won’t have such filth in my village,” he muttered. “I shall find her!”
    “If you find her, sir, what do you hope to achieve?”
    Chérie had every right to live in Soddy Morton if she wished. Although God only knew why anyone would choose to do so.
    “I’ll run her out of the village!”
    Edward looked at the old man. How had someone this pinched and disapproving sired a son like Toby?
    “How?”
    “I’m Justice of the Peace here.” Triumph gleamed in Strickland’s eyes. “I’ll see her prosecuted.” He sipped the sherry. His hand trembled as he held the glass, but his high color was fading, and his breathing was steadier.
    “On what charge, sir?”
    Strickland shrugged. “Whatever I wish.”
    I don’t think that’s how your authority is supposed to be used . Edward bit his tongue.
    Strickland swallowed the last of the sherry.
    “More, sir?”
    Strickland shook his head.
    Edward took the glass and placed it on the sideboard. When he turned around, he saw the old man struggle feebly to stand.
    “You should be abed, sir.”
    Strickland sagged back into the armchair. “I won’t have that woman in the village one more day than is necessary!” His face twisted into an expression of frustration and pain, and then, to Edward’s dismay, tears filled the old man’s eyes. “If my son was still alive, he’d help me find her.”
    Perhaps. And then Toby would have taken off to London with her. He’d had a way with the ladies.
    The guilt that had ridden on Edward’s shoulders for the past five months seemed to double in heaviness, pushing down on him until his knees almost buckled. He looked away. A grey sky and a skeletal oak tree were visible through the window.
    The window seemed to blur, to tilt sideways, as memory swamped him. For a second he wasn’t standing in a dark paneled study. He was lying on a muddy field in Belgium, dazed. Ned? Toby appeared above him, frantic. Ned! Get up! Get …Blood sprayed hot across his face.
    The muscles in Edward’s belly, in his chest, in his throat, clenched at the memory. He smelled Toby’s blood in the study, tasted it on his tongue…
    Edward blinked and shook his head. The window straightened and came back into focus. The smell of blood evaporated. He cleared his throat.
    The old man bowed his head. “Why did he have to die?”
    The words were quiet, barely audible, and heartbroken. A tear leaked down his pale, wrinkled cheek.
    Edward fished in his pocket for a handkerchief and silently held it out.
    The old man wiped his eyes.
    “Why did he have to die?” he whispered again. “My only child.”
    He died trying to save me. The guilt had its arms around him now, like a gnarled hag riding on his back, hugging so tightly that he could scarcely breathe.
    “I’ll find Chérie for you,” Edward said.
    Strickland blinked and raised his head, his eyes still bright with tears. “What?”
    “I’ll find Chérie,” Edward said more loudly, trying to ignore the sinking sensation in his chest.
    “You will?” Strickland stared up at him for a moment, his expression dumbfounded, and then he lowered the handkerchief.
    “Yes. I give you my word of honor.”
    “Mr. Kane…” A smile creased the old man’s face, and for the merest fraction of a second Edward saw a likeness to Toby.
    Strickland clasped one of Edward’s hands with both of his. His fingers were cold, dry, shaking