Gentlemen Prefer Mischief Read Free

Teagarden.
    “Well done, Freddy,” she said a little tightly. “Most diverting.”
    Turning to Hal, she said, “Might I have a word with you in private, my lord?”
    A private word with him? “Certainly, Miss Teagarden,” he said, wondering why they were being so formal when it had been Hal and Lily when they were younger. He excused himself from the others and led her toward the shade provided by a copse of trees. Her dog followed them like a furry chaperone.
    “It’s about the woods between our properties. The villagers think the Woods Fiend is back.”
    “The Woods Fiend?” he said. “By Jove, I’d forgotten about him.” As children, he and his elder brother, Everard, had gone on raids of the woods looking for the Fiend. Everard had always led the way, with Hal his faithful lieutenant.
    If only Everard were still here, he thought for the thousandth time.
    “People are saying that he’s possessed our sheep, or haunted them, or some such.” She made an impatient gesture as she uttered these bizarre words. “Thistlethwaite is known for the shawls made from our wool, but the rumors are hurting the business. So I ask that you find out what’s going on in the woods at night so this silliness can be cleared up. Please.”
    He absorbed this slightly breathless request. Since he’d become viscount, many things had been asked of him, but this was certainly the strangest. “The Woods Fiend is believed to be possessing your sheep?”
    “I’m not surprised you know nothing of this,” she said with an air of accusation, as if to suggest that this trouble was his fault. “I’ve spoken to Mr. Prescott, but to no avail.”
    Ah. Prescott had managed Mayfield for decades, and as Everard had relied on him, Hal had known he could, too. However, since arriving at Mayfield yesterday, he’d become increasingly convinced that the man was going deaf, despite trying to carry off a charade that he could hear. So that was something else to contend with.
    Since becoming viscount, Hal’s respect for his brother had only grown as he’d seen the effort it took to meet all the needs of the role. Everard had been perfect for the task; all his life, Hal had known that his brilliant, unselfish, dedicated brother was the ideal person to be viscount. Hal hadn’t even minded knowing that he himself was lacking in comparison—Everard was such a good man that he’d always wished him the best.
    And, damn fate for the cruel idiot that it was, Everard had been carried off by a fever six months ago. Leaving Hal—the unsuitable brother, the one who made mistakes, the one who had so much trouble being serious—in a role that never should have been his. If he could have given the viscountcy to his steady younger brother John, he would have. But hereditary titles didn’t work that way.
    He cleared his throat. “Why do people think the Woods Fiend is in the neighborhood? And… tampering with your sheep?”
    The flicker in her eyes dared him to laugh about the problem she’d brought to him. They were pretty eyes, of an intense if surprisingly soft blue.
    It was funny, he thought, how you could forget a person entirely, and then years later meet that person again and there was that feeling you got from being around him or her. The feeling he’d always gotten around Lily was amusement tinged with irritation; she could be a killjoy.
    But one thing had certainly changed in the intervening years. She used to be odd-looking. All the Teagardens had blond hair, but hers had been the palest, a white-blond that had made her seem fragile, a little unearthly, and not in a charming, pixie-ish way. Compared to the rest of her family, she’d been different, because her brothers were handsome and tall. She’d been too thin, which had doubtless been much of the problem with her looks, because the whole effect had been a sort of sickly almost-colorlessness.
    That had all changed. Her blue dress was not fashionable—he would have described it as