Vixen Read Online Free PDF Page B

who immediately sprang away from one another. The second bucketful sent Dante’s two opponents whimpering toward the stables. Dante, in apparent indifference, shook himself heartily and trotted over to his mistress.
    Chloe bent down to the dog. Hugo couldn’t hear what she said, but Dante’s head hung, his tail drooped, and he slunk off into the far comer of the courtyard.
    Chloe straightened, throwing her hair back over her shoulders. She hadn’t replaited it, and its radiance seemed to throw back the sunlight like a halo. She looked at Hugo, her expression uncertain, and he returned the look grimly. With a visible stiffening of her shoulders she crossed the yard toward him.
    “I’m sorry if I was rude,” she said abruptly. “But I know perfectly well how to deal with a dogfight.”
    “I assume you’ve had plenty of experience with that ill-bred, ill-disciplined beast,” he stated. “He’s to be tied up in the stables. I’ll not have him causing trouble with my hounds.”
    “But that’s so unjust!” she exclaimed in vigorous defense. “How can you possibly know that Dante started it? It was two against one, I’ll have you know.” She glared at him, all apologetic conciliation vanished. “And he’s not ill-disciplined. Look how downcast he is because I scolded him.”
    Hugo had an urge to laugh at this passionate defense of her maligned pet. She reminded him of a Lilliputian. He relented slightly. “If there’s any more trouble, he’s to be tied up.” He turned back to the house and his neglected breakfast. “And I will not have him in the house.”
    Chloe knew that keeping Dante permanently out of the house would be beyond even such a hardened dog-disliker as Hugo Lattimer, so she was not unduly perturbed by the prohibition. Everyone yielded to Dante in the end. For the moment, though, she left him in disgrace and went in search of Beatrice, who had found her brood without the least difficulty and was once again ensconced in the hat box.
    “And now I’ll have to find you some food,” Chloe murmured, frowning. Her stomach growled, asserting its own claims.
    Sir Hugo had clearly been eating his breakfast in the kitchen—another odd circumstance. But with any luck, he would have finished by now and be out of the way. Samuel would be easier to manage.
    Unfortunately, her guardian was still very much in evidence when she entered the kitchen. He was leaning back in a chair at the table, one booted leg negligentlyswinging over the arm, a tankard of ale in his hand. Samuel was clearing away dirty plates. They both turned to the door as she came in.
    “I’m rather hungry,” she said, feeling awkward.
    “Then Samuel will find you some breakfast,” Hugo responded, looking at her over his shoulder.
    “I had breakfast in Bolton at five o’clock this morning,” Chloe pointed out, casting a rapid glance toward the open pantry door. She could see a milk churn, which would be a start for Beatrice, but not much comfort to Dante.
    “Then he will find you a nuncheon,” Hugo said, still observing her. “Now, what are you looking for? Or is it
at
again?”
    Chloe’s cheeks warmed. “Nothing,”
    Hugo regarded her thoughtfully. He didn’t think Chloe Gresham was a very proficient prevaricator. “Don’t fib,” he advised. “It makes you go very pink.” Not that that delicate blush did anything more than enhance her beauty.
    Dear God, what was he thinking of? Quite apart from whose child she was, she was indecently young for a man in his thirty-fifth year to slaver over.
    He thumped his tankard on the table and said crisply, “If you want something, lass, I suggest you come right out and ask.”
    “Well, I do usually,” she replied, wandering toward the pantry in a rather roundabout fashion, as if to disguise her destination. “It usually saves a deal of time, but I don’t think you’re going to be sympathetic.”
    “Imagine you’re lookin’ for summat to give that cat of your’n,” Samuel