Wicked Widow Read Online Free PDF Page B

could have made himself far more difficult to manage had he wished to do so.”
    A flicker of hope went through Madeline. “Do you know, Aunt Bernice, you may have a point. Hunt was amazingly cooperative last night.”
    “I’m sure you will be able to explain everything to him this morning in a manner that will satisfy him.”
    Madeline thought about the relentless intent she had glimpsed in his eyes when he had left her at the door last night. The brief flare of relief faded. “I’m not so certain of that.”
    “Your problem is nothing more than overwrought nerves.” Bernice reached for a small blue bottle that stood on the table. “Here, take a spoonful of this when you have your tea. You will be feeling yourself in no time.”
    “Thank you, Aunt Bernice.” Absently, Madeline took the bottle.
    “I wouldn’t worry too much about Mr. Hunt,” Bernice said briskly. “I expect his chief concern is that you do not reveal his identity as the Dream Merchant. One cannot blame him. He is moving in some very exclusive circles at the moment.”
    “Yes.” Madeline frowned. “I wonder why. He does not seem the sort who would give a fig about the Polite World.”
    “Looking for a wife, no doubt,” Bernice said with airy assurance. “If it got out that he was in trade, his search would be considerably narrowed.”
    “A wife?” Madeline was startled by her own response to Bernice’s deduction. Why was she taken aback at the notion that Hunt was concealing his business connections because he was shopping for a wife? It was a perfectly logical conclusion. “Yes, of course. I hadn’t thought of that possibility.”
    Bernice gave her a knowing look. “That is because you are far too busy envisioning dire conspiracies and reading ominous portents into the smallest, most ordinary occurrences these days. No wonder your nerves are so inflamed that you cannot sleep well.”
    “You may be right.” Madeline turned to go down the hall. “One thing is certain, I must convince Hunt that his secrets are safe with me.”
    “I’m sure you’ll accomplish that with very little trouble, my dear. You are nothing if not resourceful.”
    Madeline went into the library. She paused to empty the contents of the blue bottle into the potted palm near the window. Then she sat down behind her desk and thought about Artemas Hunt.
    Bernice was right. Hunt had been remarkably cooperative last night. He had also displayed a useful degree of skill. Perhaps he could be induced to be even more helpful in the future.
    Artemas lounged in his chair, propped an ankle on one knee, and idly tapped a letter opener against his boot. He regarded the sturdy looking man who sat across from him on the other side of the wide desk.
    Henry Leggett had been Artemas’s man of affairs since before he’d had anything significant in the way of business affairs to handle. He’d more or less inherited Henry from his father.
    Not that Carlton Hunt had had much use for Henry’s services. Artemas had been fond of his sire, but there was no denying that Carlton had had little interest in investing for the future. After the death of his wife, the small concern he’d had for managing what was left of the Hunt family fortune had vanished altogether.
    Henry and Artemas had both been obliged to watch helplessly while all of Henry’s sound advice was ignored by a man who lived for gambling and reckless adventures in the stews. In the end it had been Henry who had come up to Oxford to inform Artemas that Carlton had got himself killed in a duel over a disputed hand of cards. It was Henry who had sadly reported that there was nothing left in the family coffers.
    Alone in the world, Artemas had resorted to the gaming hells himself in order to survive. Unlike his father, he’d had a certain knack for cards. But the life of a gamester was precarious at best.
    One night Artemas had encountered an elderly gentleman who had won with methodical efficiency. The others had all