Wicked Earl Seeks Proper Heiress Read Online Free PDF Page A

looked up as Averil, with the help of the girl, made her way with painful slowness down the stairs.

 
C HAPTER T HREE
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    A veril clung to the banister despite its greasiness. She was beyond such niceties now. Her sister—Rose, she would call her Rose, Rose was a sweet name—had been taken to the orphanage at St. Thomas’s, which was probably close by. Surely there would be a record of her? Someone must know something.
    Please, oh please, Averil’s thoughts were agonizing, as she reached the bottom of the stairs, don’t let her be dead. Was her journey coming to an end, in one way or another? Was she finally to know whether or not she was truly alone in the world?
    She cast an anxious glance about the room, hoping to see Lord Southbrook among the noisy mass of humanity. Her head was aching and she wanted to go home. Perhaps she could persuade the sullen girl to fetch her a hackney cab? Slip away before Southbrook returned?
    But it was too late. He was coming toward her, and he wasn’t alone.
    Lord Southbrook had his hand resting on the shoulder of a young boy who looked like him, and his other hand tucked rather like a jailer into the arm of a gentleman who also looked like him, only older, with graying hair.
    Good Lord, three generations of Southbrooks!
    Averil swallowed and forced a wan smile to her lips.
    “Lord Southbrook, there you are. I was just going to ask someone to fetch me a hackney cab. Jackson sent ours away and I’m sure you have enough to do and I don’t want to be a nuisance. Or more of a nuisance than I have already been.”
    His face darkened. “I’m taking you to my coach. It is completely safe. I will see you home.”
    “Really, I couldn’t possibly—”
    “You couldn’t possibly refuse,” he cut her short.
    The older man leaned forward and said in a confidential voice, “Best to just say ‘yes,’ my dear. My nephew is a bully and will have his own way whatever you say.”
    “Papa isn’t a bully,” the boy piped up, dark eyes narrowing. “Hackneys are grubby and we have a nice coach.”
    Averil sighed.
    The older man peered at her with interest. “Are you coming to Southbrook Castle, too? It wouldn’t be so bad if she could come, too,” he added to Lord Southbrook with a hopeful note. “Do introduce us, Rufus.”
    Lord Southbrook introduced them, as if they were at a perfectly respectable house, rather than surrounded by drunken revelry.
    “Lady Averil Martindale, this is my uncle, the Honorable James Blainey. And this is my son, Eustace, Lord Turrif. Lady Averil fell and hurt herself on her way here so we are taking her home in the coach.”
    “My lord,” she tried again, “I really don’t think this is necessary. I can find—” Find what? Frustration filled her. How dare Jackson run off and leave her in this mess. Averil all but stamped her foot and might well have done, if her knee wasn’t so sore. She would be having words with him the next time she saw him.
    Lord Southbrook ignored her, stepping forward and lifting her into his arms. “Don’t be an idiot, Lady Averil,” he murmured in her ear.
    Cross and startled, she stared up at him.
    “You have placed yourself in danger. I am coming to your rescue. You can thank me later.”
    A bully, mouthed the Honorable James Blainey, standing at his nephew’s shoulder.
    They left The Tin Soldier and set off into the maze of dark streets, but the earl strode along as if he knew exactly where they were going. Averil was rather impressed. In a short time they reached a main thoroughfare where he had left the coach. The coachman jumped down and opened the door, trying not to stare at this extra passenger his master appeared to have acquired. Lord Southbrook murmured something to his coachman and then leaned inside the coach and set Averil upon the soft leather seat. As she sat there, dazed, her fair hair tumbling over her shoulders, her gray eyes wide, he preceded to tuck a blanket about her. Averil hoped he couldn’t