Truly Yours Read Online Free PDF

but he intended to sell his commission soon. He was not going back to the army, in any capacity. He had fulfilled his duty six times over.
    His father had not answered, and Murchison had packed what Murchison deemed necessary. He had eased Rex’s way at some of the inns, silently but effectively ensuringthe meals were hot and well prepared, the linens clean and aired. And there was no doubt that Murchison made a quiet, undemanding companion, unlike Verity, who insisted on frequent carriage stops, regular meals, and not letting the viscount out of her sight. The dog would have pined for him, the earl had pointed out—if she did not follow the coach all the way to London.
    Of course Rex remembered, too late, why he never took Verity aboard his sailboat despite her pleading eyes. The mastiff got seasick, and carriage sick too, it seemed. Which caused Murchison to speak for the first time in Rex’s hearing, in profane, creative French, which explained why the man pretended to be deaf and dumb. A Frenchman at Royce Hall near the Dover coast would be shot before he could say Jacques Rabbit.
    “Does my father know?” Then Rex answered his own question. “Of course he does. He knows everything.”
    The valet shrugged, said “He saved my life” in English, and did not speak again for the rest of the trip to London, not even to tell his real name.
    “Montclaire?” Rex guessed. “Marceau?”
    Verity’s groan of discomfort was his only answer.
    Once they neared Town, Rex found an inn that would accept the massive dog and the mute valet. The accommodations were simple and the food simpler, but the ale was good and the stables better. He could have found a bunk in the army barracks if he were on his own, but not with a Frenchman in tow. He might have slept on Daniel’s sofa once he fished his cousin out of whatever sewer he was frequenting these days. Perhaps the inn was better after all, for he had no more desire to see his cousin than Daniel had to see him, he assumed, not after the way they had parted in Spain. Hell, he supposed he owed Daniel an apology now, too. But how else was he to get the big lummox to go home to his mother’s aid, except by telling him that he was in the way, that Rex was tired of having an ugly oaf looking over his shoulder, that he was weary of Daniel the giant nursemaid?
    Hell, indeed.
    First the girl, Rex decided, gratefully mounting his rented horse instead of suffering another mile in the closed coach. How long could it take to ask Miss—he still could not remember her blasted name, likely because he did not want to know her—his two questions: Did she kill her stepfather? Was it in self-defense? He had to hear her answers; then he would know what kind of lawyer to hire for her. His father still had some influence among the legal gentlemen who cared about seeing justice done. The earl had more than enough blunt to hire some eloquent blood-sucker of a barrister who did not care if his client were caught red-handed beside a dead body.
    After dealing with the girl, Rex could try to shake some sense into dense-headed Daniel. He’d make his apology, then make the fool go home to manage his estate. With any luck, Rex could be on his own way back toward Dover and Royce Hall in the morning, to his riding and sailing. His injured leg was as strong as it was going to get, he supposed, but the strenuous activity let him sleep at night. He thought he ought to take his own advice and start riding along with his father’s steward, to learn about the lands that would someday be his. He had never envisioned himself as a farmer, though. He was a soldier, by Jupiter, with a dangerous reputation and a diabolic knack.
    The alleged murderess was lucky; he had only two questions for her. Damn, Rex’s whole life was a question.
    “Bloody hell,” Rex cursed when they opened the cell door. “What the devil happened to her?”
    “That would of been the scuffle in the yard, afore some bleedin’ heart gentry