By Love Unveiled Read Free Page A

the Duke of York under the humble name Garett Lockwood, and how he performed many heroic acts. Apparently he even stayed abroad to arrange His Majesty’s marriage after the king’s return. That’s how he regained his lands—as a reward for his actions.”
    “A reward he could never have received if Father hadn’t been arrested and killed,” she said hotly.
    Mr. Tibbett cast her a pained look. “Yes, but you must understand. Sir Pitney had no right to sell the estate, not while the heir was alive.”
    “Then the heir shouldn’t have hidden himself off abroad,” Marianne snapped.
    The door opened and closed behind her, but she was too caught up in her anger to heed either that or Mr. Tibbett’s warning glance.
    “No one would have bought Falkham House in the first place,” she continued, “if this heir had simply bothered to inform people he hadn’t died in the war. It makes me wonder—”
    “Ah, here’s that rosemary you came for,” Mr. Tibbett jumped in as he thrust a jar at her.
    “Rosemary?” She slid it back at him. “What would I want with rosemary?”
    “I believe,” rumbled a deep masculine voice behindher, “Mr. Tibbett is trying to keep you from wounding my feelings.”
    Startled, Marianne swung around, knocking off the jar of rosemary, which hit the stone floor and shattered, filling the air with the herb’s pungent scent.
    “Good day, my lord,” Mr. Tibbett said hastily. “It’s good to see you again.”
    “And you,” the stranger said tersely.
    Lord help her. This had to be the earl himself. Worse yet, she’d just insulted him, thus drawing attention to herself. A pox on her quick tongue!
    What now? Apologize or stay silent? Which one would help her escape his further notice?
    Thank heavens Mr. Tibbett had insisted on her continuing to wear the mask. This Royalist earl wouldn’t hesitate to hand her over to the Crown, given who she was and what she and Father had been accused of.
    Which he might have engineered himself.
    She shivered. This man could very well be her enemy. He certainly looked daunting—tall, fiercely handsome, and nobly dressed.
    Trying to gather her wits about her, she bent to pick up the shards of crockery, and her gaze went right to his jackboots of supple gray leather. As she straightened, she took in his hose of the best silk and his breeches of kerseymere. His gray woolen cape was pushed back over his shoulders, exposing his doublet and, underneath that, his shirt of fine holland.
    But when she met his gaze, she realized she’d erred in keeping silent. Fed by the sight of her unusual garb,he looked suspicious. The late summer air wasn’t yet chill enough for a cloak, and ladies didn’t generally wear masks indoors, except to the theater.
    She stole a glance at her aunt. At least Aunt Tamara’s appearance shouldn’t raise his suspicions too much, for despite her olive skin, she dressed like a poor gentlewoman.
    Mr. Tibbett finally found his voice. “May I help you, my lord?” he asked, to draw the earl’s attention from Marianne.
    Lord Falkham’s grim mouth smoothed surprisingly into a pleasant smile. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Mr. Bones?”
    The teasing nickname took Marianne off guard.
    Apparently, it did the same for Mr. Tibbett, who hesitated before returning his lordship’s smile. “It has indeed, my lord. The days when you called me Mr. Bones are so long gone I wouldn’t have thought you’d remember them. In truth, I thought never to witness your return to your rightful place.”
    “I’m thankful someone in England is pleased to see me.” Lord Falkham’s gaze turned mocking as it flicked briefly over Marianne. “Not everyone has been so. My uncle’s Roundhead friends, some of whom are still in high places, would have seen me completely disinherited if they’d thought it would profit them.”
    “Then God preserve us all,” Mr. Tibbett said. At Lord Falkham’s raised eyebrow, he added, “I assure you that we here in