What Price Love? Read Online Free PDF Page B

her, wouldn’t have expected that.”
    Barnaby humphed; he regarded Dillon. “But you’re immune, impervious, and unimpressionable in that regard.” His lips quirked. “Having set eyes on you, hearing that you were Caxton, guardian of the register, must have been a most unwelcome shock.”
    Dillon recalled the moment; a shock, yes, but unwelcome? In one respect, perhaps, but otherwise?
    What he had detected in that first moment of strange and unexpected recognition had been an element of flaring curiosity. One thathad affected him in precisely the same degree.
    â€œBut I take your point,” Barnaby went on. “After one peek, why not two? And after two, well, why not let the darling girl pore over the register for an hour or two. No harm if it’s in your office—and no great misery to have to watch her while she pores.”
    â€œIndeed.” Dillon’s tone was dry. “I imagine that’s more or less how matters would have transpired had I been more susceptible.”
    â€œRegardless, her advent now gives us two immediate avenues to pursue. The Irishman and the attempts to break in here, and the startlingly beautiful Miss Dalling.”
    Energized, Barnaby looked at Dillon, then grimaced. “In light of the tendencies Miss Dalling has already displayed, I’d better play safe and leave you to investigate her. I’ll focus on the unknown Irishman and anyone who can tell me anything about people loitering after dark in this vicinity.”
    Dillon nodded. “We can meet tomorrow afternoon and share what we’ve learned.”
    Barnaby rose. Meeting his eyes, Dillon smiled wryly. “While trawling through the hedge taverns, you can console yourself with the thought that following Miss Dalling will almost certainly result in my attending precisely those social events I would prefer to avoid like the plague.”
    Barnaby grinned. “Each to our own sacrifices.” He snapped off a jaunty salute, and left.
    Seated behind his desk, his gaze on the now-empty chair, Dillon thought again of Miss Dalling, and all he now wanted to know.

2
    I can’t see Rus anywhere.” Pris scanned the throng of horses and jockeys, trainers, strappers, and lads engaged in a practice session on Newmarket racetrack. A minor race meet was approaching; many stables took the opportunity of a practice session to trial their runners on the track itself, or so the ostler at the Crown & Quirt had informed her. Such practice sessions also helped whip up enthusiasm for the various runners.
    That, Pris thought, explained the large number of the racing public who, like Adelaide and she, were standing behind the rails on the opposite side of the track, studying the horses. At least the milling crowd provided camouflage.
    Adelaide squinted across the track. “Can you see anyone from Lord Cromarty’s stables?”
    â€œNo.” Pris examined the motley crew, jockeys circling on mounts eager to be off, raucous comments flying between them and the trainers and lads on the ground. “But I’m not sure I would recognize anyone other than Cromarty himself. He’s short, and as round as he’s tall—he’s definitely not there. I’ve seen his head stableman, Harkness, once. He’s big and dark, rather fearsome-looking. There are one or two similar over there, but I don’t think they’re him. Not dark enough—or fierce enough, come to that.”
    She looked around. “Let’s walk. Perhaps Rus or Cromarty are on this side of the track, talking to others.”
    Unfurling their parasols, deploying them to deflect the morning sun, they paraded along the sward, attracting not a little attention.
    Pris was aware of the appraising glances thrown their way, but she’d long grown inured to such awestruck looks. Indeed, she tended to view those who stared, stunned and occasionally slavering, with dismissive contempt.
    She and Adelaide