A Lady in Disguise Read Free

ashamed of herself for spying on these clandestine lovers. Yet, even as she berated herself, she sighed. In her heart, she knew that love was not for such as she. Her heart had never leapt at a man’s approach, nor had her cheek ever grown pale or flamed into rose when some gentleman spoke. Not even for Alaric Reyne, an earl of undoubted attractions.
    Twenty days ago she’d understood in a flash what lay between Alaric and Sarah East. She had correctly interpreted, as they had not, the expression in his eyes when he’d looked upon the golden beauty of the other girl. Lillian had not felt jealousy then, but she felt it now. Jealous, not of Alaric, for she’d not loved him. Jealous, rather, of those who had felt the king of emotions take command of their heart.
    She leaned her hot forehead against the cool glass and felt tears burn her eyes. Her heavy traveling dress, borrowed from her maid, was uncomfortably tight in the bodice. The door opened, but Lillian did not turn. It would just be the landlady with the lemonade. She’d welcome a cooling drink.
    “Miss Cole?” a strong male voice said from behind her. “Are you Miss Cole?”
    With a start, she recalled that was the nom de guerre Lady Pritchard had chosen for her. “Oh! Yes,” Lillian said, as her hand stole up to touch her cheek. She was relieved to find it dry. With a bright smile she turned and then reached for the wall behind her as her knees surrendered their support.
    “How do you do, Miss Cole. I’m Everard of Mottisbury Castle.” She could see what Paulina had meant about his pride, but the other woman had not mentioned the excellent reason he had for it.
    “How—how—” Lillian stuttered.
    “Are you quite well?” His eyes, the rich green of a sunlit sea, narrowed as he surveyed her, beginning with her disarranged locks and ending with the round toes of her boots peeking from beneath her bedraggled hem.
    Lillian straightened up under that penetrating gaze. “I’m perfectly well, Mr. Everard. The coach was very hot.”
    “I’ve come to take you up to the castle, but I will wait until you’ve taken some refreshment. I heard a reference to lemonade?”
    The landlady hustled in, a sweating earthenware jug and two mugs on a tray in one hand. Lillian watched but saw no undue reaction on the lady’s features. Perhaps she was used to seeing Mr. Everard in town and the impact was lessened. It seemed unthinkable to Lillian.
    A man had no right to look like this. Or, if he must be splendid, he certainly had no right to surprise a woman without warning. Such a paragon should be equipped from birth with a herald to go before him and announce to the female kind that a dream walked among them.
    Her hand shook as she lifted the cup. “Very good,” she said after drinking.
    “Have another,” Mr. Everard said. “We’ve plenty of time. I shan’t hurry you. You seemed rather flushed just now, when I came in.”
    Lillian blushed all the brighter. She was not used to personal comments, at least not to such unflattering ones. And it was a wonder she’d only turned red. A more susceptible woman, she imagined, would have dropped down in a dead faint.
    “The young lady must be rattled half to death, the way those big coaches sway,” the landlady said sympathetically as she left the room.
    “There is no reason to be concerned,” Lillian answered. “I’m entirely at your disposal, Mr. Everard. I cannot wait to meet my pupil.” That seemed to be the sort of thing she remembered her own governess saying, when new. Perhaps this pretense would be as easy as Lady Pritchard had predicted.
    She took up her pelisse and stood waiting. Surely he’d not be able to resist one swift glance in the mirror above the fireplace before they left the inn. She’d met many a handsome man in London, and she knew what they were like—more in love with their own reflection than with the living face of any woman. Looking at Mr. Everard’s thick black hair, she decided he