Timeless Desire Read Online Free PDF Page B

She felt like Dorothy in the Emerald City.
    A voice sounded in the hallway, and the look of concern that came over Bridgewater’s face made her stop instantly. He held a finger to his lips and pointed with the other hand to a small alcove out of the direct sight lines of the entryway. She complied at once, abandoning the book. He returned to his desk and picked up a piece of paper there.
    Someone knocked, and the door opened. Bridgewater’s shoulders relaxed. From where Panna stood, the visitor seemed to be a servant carrying a tray of food. Of course, she’d also learned things were not always what they seemed in this place.
    “Please, if I may say, sir,” the man said in a low voice, “this is an outrage. They are—”
    “Reeves,” Bridgewater said sharply, and the man stopped. Panna felt the stabbing realization that Reeves was about to say something Bridgewater didn’t want her to hear.
    “Leave the tray there.” Bridgewater gestured to the table next to the hearth.
    Reeves deposited the tray as directed. Then he raised the hanging leaf on the table and drew out a narrow gate leg to support it. As he did, Panna saw the back of a red-coated soldier come into view at the door. Bridgewater stiffened visibly. Panna withdrew farther into the alcove to ensure she could not be seen by the soldier, nor by Reeves unless he turned.
    “Make it quick, man,” the soldier said to Reeves. When Reeves finished laying out the place setting, he began to look around the room. It dawned on Panna that he must be looking for a chair.
    Then she spotted the cane-backed chair beside her. She gasped. There was nowhere to go. She backed against the wall and said a small prayer.
    Reeves reached the entrance to the alcove and did a stutter step when he saw her.
    The soldier straightened. “What? What is it?”
    For a long moment there was silence, then Reeves said, “This is filthy. I’ll flay the girl who cleaned this room.” He grabbed the chair and gave Panna an apologetic look.
    “Nobody cleaned it, you fool,” the soldier said. “No one’s allowed in. Not until my orders change.”
    “Let us hope that is soon,” Reeves said, sniffing. He set up the chair at the table. “Will this be enough for dinner?” Reeves asked Bridgewater carefully. “I can certainly bring more if you require it.”
    “He’s not getting more,” the soldier bellowed. “He’s under arrest.”
    “Thank you, Reeves,” Bridgewater said. “This will suffice.”
    “May I recommend the soup, sir? Tis most appetizing this evening.”
    Bridgewater’s brow rose. “I look forward to it.”
    The man bowed and exited, followed, Panna assumed, by the soldier, for she heard the door close and Bridgewater appeared at the alcove’s entry to wave her out.
    “Are you being held here?” she demanded. “In your own house?”
    He held up a hand, listening. “There,” he said after a long pause. “You can talk. He just closed the door at the end of the hallway.”
    “And?”
    “And what?”
    “And you’re being held?”
    “Is that a question?”
    She began to protest and then saw his smile.
    “Aye.” He offered her the chair at the table. “I am. The English army has accused me of collaborating with the Scots.”
    She declined the chair, too unsettled to sit. “Are you?”
    He gave her a thoughtful look. “Of course not. I am an English citizen. My grandfather is a Scot, though, and that may have given them some pause.”
    A marriage of mixed nationality. Odd at the time. Odder still for a nobleman. She grabbed a hunk of cheese and a fig from the tray. “But surely they knew that when you joined.”
    “Tis not illegal to have Scots blood running in one’s veins. At least not yet.” He inclined his head toward the food. “Do you mind if I . . . ?”
    “Not at all,” she said, nibbling the fruit. “Please, go on.”
    He took a seat. “However, my grandfather is more than just a Scot.” He blew on the first spoonful of soup. “He is