Damsel in Disguise Read Free Page A

better she get such foolishness out of her mind now before she started expecting grand romance for her own life. Indeed, women like them should harbor no such hopes—Julia had learned that the hard way. Perhaps the truth would come easier for Sophie.
    “We’ll be done with this before you know it,” Julia went on, hoping her light tone and warm smile would both encourage and distract her young friend. “Then we’ll find Papa, and you’ll become a part of our troupe. You’re quite a hand at sewing, but perhaps we can coax you into acting, as well.”
    “Acting? Oh, I’m sure I could never be so very good at that. All those lines I’d have to memorize!”
    “You’ve been playacting the part of a blushing bride for three days now, and so far, the audience seems quite enthralled,” Julia said, sweeping her arm wide to indicate the patrons of the posting house, a few of whom had traveled this last leg of the journey on the mail coach with them.
    Sophie looked around the dim room and frowned. “I believe our audience would be no less enthralled were I simply a chicken tucked under your arm. They’ve hardly taken note of us at all.”
    “There, you see? You’ve played your part to perfection. Who’s to say you might not make a memorable Juliet or Ophelia or—”
    “Lord Lindley!” Sophie said suddenly.
    “Lord Lindley? I don’t believe we have any scripts with Lor—”
    And then Julia glanced up to realize what Sophie meant. The doorway was filled with the elegant form of a man they had briefly met in London just as they were making their hasty escape. Lord Lindley—a good friend and confidante of the evil Fitzgelder.
    Sophie’s eyes were huge and terrified, and Julia wanted to slide under the table. Good heavens, if Lindley recognized them, he’d notify Fitzgelder of their whereabouts! They had to hide, to get out of here this very instant.
    But there was nowhere they could go, nowhere in the room to hide. They were trapped. Julia’s pulse pounded, and she struggled to think up some scheme to protect them. What could she do? Where could they . . . ?
    Suddenly all coherent thought ceased.
    A familiar broad-shouldered form appeared behind Lindley. Julia’s lungs contracted, the air squeezed out of them in a whimper. Around her, the world disappeared, and she was aware of only one thing: Anthony Rastmoor was still alive.
    Thank God she wasn’t too late! Fitzgelder’s men hadn’t succeeded in their plan. Anthony still lived and breathed and wore that smile of half amusement, half boredom she’d come to know so well three years ago. Three long, painful years ago.
    He was alive, and he was beautiful. And he was cold. When his gaze fell on her, she recoiled, both inwardly and out. The chill that emanated in his hazel eyes was as unfamiliar as the image that had been greeting her in the mirror since she and Sophie had taken up this masquerade. Indeed, the Anthony Rastmoor who followed Lindley into the poorly lit common room was a man much changed from the man who had taken Julia’s virtue—as well as her heart.
    His gaze didn’t last long on her, though. Quickly it moved on, as if she were of little importance to anyone. This surprised her more than even the fact that she was seeing him again. How could she be struggling for air, feeling as if the universe itself would collapse around her, and yet his gaze simply swept over her as if she’d been nothing more than furniture? It was unthinkably hurtful.
    Then his gaze did linger, but not on her. She had to physically turn her head to see what he was seeing. The air swept back into her lungs and burned like fire.
    He was gazing at Sophie.
    Her brain began functioning again. Mostly her thoughts were torn, though. Should she gouge out the man’s eyes or grab up a dull knife and castrate him here? God, but how he was staring at Sophie! The nerve of him!
    Funny, Julia had never contemplated how fetching the girl must appear to those of the male persuasion.