Don't Bargain with the Devil Read Free

familiar scent of Guard’s Bouquet on his collar calmed her, reminding her that he was still her dear Papa, no matter whom he’d married.
     
Lady Kerr held out a handkerchief, and Lucy took it gratefully, casting her stepmother a tremulous smile as she dabbed at her eyes and nose.
     
“As I told you,” Lady Kerr said, “we’d be happy to have you come with us.”
     
The kind remark nearly brought back Lucy’s tears, but she stifled them ruthlessly. When had she become such a watering pot?
     
Steadying her shoulders, she pulled away. “I can’t. I need to keep busy, and Mrs. Harris could use the help. I’ll be fine. Really, I will.”
     
“We’ll be back in three weeks,” Papa said, “but if you need us sooner, just send word.”
     
“Thank you, Papa.” Lucy kissed his cheek, then, on impulse, kissed Lady Kerr’s. The bright smile she received in return made her wish she hadn’t been so sharp with her earlier. “I’ll miss you both,” she said, and truly meant it.
     
She accompanied them to the coach and followed it to the end of the drive. As she strolled back, she balked at facing her unpacking. It would only provoke more tears, and she was sick of crying.
     
She made a sharp turn and headed across to the blooming cherry orchard that separated the school from its neighboring estate, Rockhurst. According to Mrs. Harris, Mr. Pritchard had been trying to sell it, but no one would meet his exorbitant price, since the house was nearly beyond repair. So Rockhurst had lain vacant for the past three months, which was why she felt free to wander into its orchard.
     
As she entered the trees, a breeze sent blossoms tumbling about her like snowflakes, and her heart lightened. Unable to resist the enticement, she kicked off her kidskin slippers and began to twirl amidst the falling blossoms as she’d done when she was a girl. The more she twirled, the less her heart ached. Her hair pulled loose from its pins to fall about her, twirling with her.
     
For the first time in days, she felt free to be herself, without Peter’s nasty words taking her to task. When she was gasping and too light-headed to make another turn, she threw herself to the ground. Tucking her hands beneath her head, she stared up at the branches and lifted her face to the blossoms drifting gently onto her gown.
     
If only life could always be like this, just cherry blossoms and spring. Or even as it was during her blissfulstudent days here, when she and the other girls learned geography and the waltz and how men could deceive you—
     
A sigh escaped her. She should have heeded those lessons. Instead, she’d let her imagination run away with her, soaking up the nonsense in that scandalous book of harem’s tales she and the girls had read in secret. She’d convinced herself that one day she and Peter would marry and try…all those…naughty…things…
     
The previous night’s tear-torn sleep caught up with her, and she fell into a doze. She was dreaming of a harem where the women were in charge and the sultan had to do their bidding, when a deep male voice penetrated her haze.
     
“What have we here? A local lady come to welcome me to the neighborhood? Or a goddess descended from Mount Olympus to sport with a mere mortal?”
     
Lucy’s eyes shot open. Was she still dreaming? The devilishly handsome man standing at her feet could easily be a sultan, with his olive skin and eyes the color of roasted almonds. He’d clearly just come from a bath, for his glossy black hair lay damp on his neck. Shockingly, he wore only a white shirt tucked into black pantaloons tucked into a pair of top boots, with no waistcoat, coat, or cravat.
     
She had to be dreaming. No man hereabouts would leave his house in shirtsleeves. Or leave his shirt open at the throat to reveal a smattering of chest hair. Or wear pantaloons so tight they showed every well-defined muscle in his thighs. He was such a delicious specimen of manliness that he fairly took her breath away.
     
Meanwhile, his