By Love Unveiled Read Free Page B

Lydgate would have done more to stop Sir Pitney if we’d known of his treachery. Imagine ouroutrage when the blackguard went so far as to sell Falkham House—”
    Mr. Tibbett broke off as he apparently remembered who else was present.
    The earl didn’t seem to notice. “It might have cost ‘the blackguard’ dearly if I’d returned to find my property beyond my reach. Fortunately, matters worked out to my satisfaction.”
    It took every ounce of Marianne’s control not to utter a harsh retort. To his satisfaction, indeed. Only through the death and disgrace of her father had it been so.
    Mr. Tibbett hastened to smooth over the awkward moment. “In any case, I know I speak for everyone when I say how pleased we are that you own the estate once more. You’ll be a good lord for Falkham House.”
    The earl smiled grimly, then turned unexpectedly to Marianne. “And do you agree, madam? Shall I be a ‘good lord’?” When she remained silent, only too aware of the danger in engaging her enemy in conversation, his eyes darkened. “Of course not. No doubt you preferred to have Sir Henry in residence, or even Sir Pitney, instead of the rightful owner.”
    She kept silent, though her temper raged within her.
    “We’re sad to lose Sir Henry, of course,” Mr. Tibbett said hastily, “but we’re glad to see you’ve returned. I know you would have felt the loss of Falkham House keenly if Sir Henry had lived and kept ownership of the estate.”
    “That wouldn’t have happened,” the earl said with assurance.
    “Why not?” Marianne asked without thinking.
    Lord Falkham studied her masked visage. “I would have offered him so much money for the estate he would gladly have sold it to me.”
    Didn’t the man know that his uncle had also attempted such a thing? Two years ago, after Lord—no, Sir Pitney—had become powerful among Cromwell’s supporters, he’d tried to buy back the estate. When Father had refused to sell, the man had spread rumors that Marianne and her mother were witches because of their healing abilities and gypsy blood. Fortunately, Lydgate’s townspeople had ignored his nonsense. But it had made Marianne wary of the duplicitous fellow.
    And now she was just as wary of his nephew, especially when the man cast her a chilling smile. “Fortunately, that situation never arose. His Majesty was more than happy to restore my lands to me.”
    “That won’t please your uncle, I daresay,” Mr. Tibbett said. “He was always a grasping tyrant with grand plans for himself and a tendency to use . . . ah . . . forceful means to achieve his goals.”
    “I don’t fear Sir Pitney,” Lord Falkham bit out. “By now he must have realized he made the greatest mistake of his life when he stole my inheritance. And if my regaining Falkham House didn’t prove that, I won’t hesitate to give him other proofs. He’ll learn his lesson, if I must teach it to him over and over.”
    The threat in his words sent a shudder through Marianne. She understood his dislike for Sir Pitney, but this went beyond dislike. After all, the man couldn’t haveknown he was alive—it wasn’t Sir Pitney’s fault that he’d assumed the worst. Clearly, the earl was another of those arrogant nobles newly returned from exile who expected everyone to give him his due, just or not.
    Still, she had to admit he seemed different from the exiles she’d known at court—more somber, somehow. His thick, ash-brown hair fell uncurled to his shoulders, in defiance of fashion, and not a trace of lace adorned his shirt or doublet. Yet no air of the Puritan clung to him, either. He had a bearing more inherently self-assured than any newly empowered Puritan.
    It was that confidence and aristocratic bearing that alarmed her most of all. They could lead a man to commit all manner of crimes.
    As if Aunt Tamara could hear her niece’s morbid thoughts, she prodded Marianne toward the door. “We’ll be leaving now, if you’ll excuse us,