Gayle Buck Read Free Page A

Damion’s eyes when they had rested on her. With unwonted energy she ran her fingers through her flattened curls. “Don t be foolish!” she said aloud.
    Yet Victoria knew, however she might wish it, that she would not soon forget Lord Damion’s disturbing effect on her. Charles March, for all his engaging charm, had never caused her to stare like an awkward schoolgirl on first meeting.
    On the contrary, she had tried to lash him with her riding crop for his impudence in catching up her bridle and thus ending an impromptu race across the plain. She smiled, remembering. It had been a stormy introduction but Charles March had soon had her laughing with him.
    When she and Charles had returned to the stables that day, Victoria had been surprised to find her uncle, Carlos Silva y Montoya, waiting for them. Carlos had not often intruded on her riding hours and she wondered what could be so important. But her uncle had not come to meet her.
    Charles March had kicked out of his stirrups to land agilely on his feet beside the older man. The two men embraced as only comrades-in-arms can. With open astonishment Victoria watched the meeting between her uncle and the young Englishman.
    “So, young Carlos, you have come at last. I expected you earlier,” Carlos had said. Victoria regarded the young Englishman with new eyes, for her uncle’s warm reception of him spoke volumes about his character. Carlos Silva y Montoya was reputed to be a man of action who had little time for less hardy souls. During the war he acted at times as a guide and an informant for the British army. Victoria wondered how someone like Charles March could possibly have become his friend.
    “I had a rare bit of action to attend to first,” Charles March had said with a flashing grin. His lively gaze turned toward Victoria, who had dismounted and joined them. “But as it happens I am happy to have been delayed until this morning, or I would not have made the acquaintance of this charming lady.” He bowed low to Victoria.
    Carlos drew his niece’s gloved hand through the crook of his elbow and gave Victoria’s fingers an affectionate squeeze. “Your eye is a discerning one. My niece is as a rare jewel. She came to me when her father died two years ago and I have seen her become a beautiful woman. So, Victoria, what do you think of my young friend?”
    “I suspect that he could charm the birds from the sky if he wished. And you are yourself no sluggard, Carlos,” Victoria said, her eyes dancing.
    The two men laughed. Carlos Silva y Montoya clapped the young Englishman on the shoulder. “You shall stay with us when you can, young Carlos.”
    “I shall be happy to do so, sir,” Charles March said. His admiring eyes met and held Victoria’s glance.
    Victoria could scarcely recall a moment afterwards that Charles had not figured in her life. Since his death, she found herself to be incredibly lonely though she was still surrounded by their mutual friends.
    Victoria did not know what she might have done if she had not had her young daughter to look after.
    The chaise suddenly bounded into the air, jolting Victoria from her bittersweet memories. The carriage landed hard with a sharp crack and slewed. Victoria grabbed the hand strap set in the ceiling even as the chaise crashed over. She was flung from the seat and lay still a moment, stunned.
    The door above her jerked open and she looked up into the coachman’s weathered face. His head and shoulders almost obliterated the fast waning afternoon sun. “Be ye all right, m’lady?” he asked anxiously.
    Victoria groped and found her reticule, then put her hand on the door beneath her to steady herself as she sat up. Under her flattened fingers broken glass shifted. She raised her hand to inspect the thin ribbon of blood traced across her palm. “Yes, I am perfectly fine,” she said calmly, plucking out the minute sliver of window glass.
    “If ye give me your hand, m’lady, I can pull ye out,” said the