The Thirteenth Earl Read Online Free PDF Page A

too soon, she was descending the stairs. At the bottom, Miles stood with his arms behind his back. His neck craned as he saw her slippers. His black hair swooped across his forehead, almost covering one of his dark-brown eyes. At the moment, they radiated warmth. It calmed Cassandra’s heart a bit when their gazes met—he looked sincerely happy to see her. His smile sent hopefulness in her direction. But what had he been doing in Scotland? All that time?
    As she got closer, she felt a wave of anger propel her forward. He had left her adrift for nine years, while people talked behind her back. As if he had no idea how vicious society could be. She often felt alone at all the balls she was invited to, knowing that as soon as she left a conversation, there was a person whispering about poor Miss Seton and how embarrassing it must be to be abandoned by your betrothed.
    He held out both of his hands as she reached him, and she put hers in them because it was what was expected. She watched his eyes as he bent over to kiss her fingers. He had done this on the balcony at her debutante ball, whispering that she was the loveliest woman he had ever seen. He had the same look in his eyes now, and it sent a bolt of hope through her—the thought that they could not only repair things but also be happy.
    “Cassandra,” he said. “I have imagined this very moment for so long.”
    “Hello, Mr. Markwick,” she said, hoping she affected a light tone. Cassandra had played this moment over in her mind a hundred times. Sometimes she welcomed him with open arms, grateful to finally see him; sometimes she slapped him. She wanted to do both now that the time had come.
    “I do think you should call me Miles. You used to.”
    “Yes. Miles.”
    “Are you not happy to see me?” he asked, looking perplexed.
    “Of course I am,” she said with what she hoped was a serviceable smile. But behind Miles, she could see through into the breakfast parlor, where Thaxton was serenely biting into toast. He was not supposed to be there.
    Eliza had said it was private. The viscount had shaved, was neat as a pin, and she was lost. She wrenched her eyes back to Miles, who now regarded her with wariness.
    “You do not seem it,” he said. “And I cannot blame you. I am the worst man in the world for leaving such a beautiful flower behind.”
    Cassandra knew that this proclamation should have made her heart thump, or whatever happened when one’s paramour paid a compliment. It should have given her hope. In the parlor, Thaxton had moved on to a plate of sausage.
    She put her arm through Miles’s. “Shall we go to breakfast?”

    He could not believe his good fortune, until he saw Miss Seton coming down the stairs into the arms of Miles Markwick. Thaxton felt sorry for a fleeting moment, before he let a grin break on his face. Inadvertently plundering their reunion meal provided him with more than just a nice repast. Miss Seton had seen him, and the look on her face gave a pretty reward. Though he knew he would never have her, he had awoken with a mighty urge to impress the woman.
    Miles swung the parlor door all the way open, as he always did with doors, making it crash against the wall with a careless bounce. The oaf.
    “Thaxton,” he said, startled. “What the blazes are you doing here?”
    He stood, dropping a small bow of his head, directed at Cassandra, not Miles.
    “Eating. The morning’s food in the other room was gone. The countess has thoughtfully provided a second set, it seems.” He popped another piece of the toast in his mouth and raised his eyebrows playfully. “Good morning, Miss Seton.”
    “Good morning, Lord Thaxton.”
    She was flushed. The pleasure filling his veins was worth all the poking and prodding from Spencer’s uncompromising valet. And even better, Miles’s expression had turned over into ugly, barely concealed anger.
    “I see you have met my cousin,” he said tightly. “I assure you he is not a good