I Thee Wed Read Free

Manor.” Chilton’s voice abruptly hardened. “Right little bitch, she was. Didn’t know when to Stop struggling.”
    “Never say that some poor little companion actually took a notion to refuse your elegant lovemaking techniques, Chilton.”
    “Got her comeuppance, she did.” Chilton seemed oblivious of the sarcasm that dripped in Miranda’s voice. “Lady Ralston found us together in the linen closet. She dismissed the stupid little creature out of hand, of course.”
    “I don’t care to hear the details of your conquest of a paid companion,” Miranda said coldly. She had her temper back under control.
    “No references, naturally,” Chilton added with vindictive satisfaction. “Doubt if she ever got another post. Probably starving in some workhouse by now.”
    Emma was shaking violently, and her breathing was as tight as the fists she had clenched at her sides. Fear or rage? he wondered again. Something told him it was the latter. He began to worry that she would fling open the wardrobe door and confront Crane. It might prove entertaining but he could not allow it. Such a move would not only bring disaster down on her, it would ruin his own plans.
    He tightened his grasp on Emma, trying to convey a silent warning. She seemed to comprehend. At least she did not attempt to launch herself out of the wardrobe.
    “If you do not leave at once, Chilton, I shall summon my footman, Swan,” Miranda said icily. “I am sure he will have no difficulty removing you.”
    “See here, there’s no need to call that great, hulking brute,” Chilton growled. “I’m leaving.”
    Footsteps thudded on the floor. Edison heard the outer door open and close.
    “Bloody, stupid fool.” Miranda’s voice was soft with disgust. “I’m a
lady
. I don’t have to put up with anything less than the best.”
    More footsteps. Quieter this time. Miranda was crossing the room to her dressing table. Edison hoped she would not decide that she needed an item from the wardrobe.
    There were a few more small sounds: the click of a comb on the wooden surface of the table, the stopper of a bottle being removed and replaced. Then came the whisper of expensive satin skirts. More soft footsteps.
    The bedchamber door opened once more. When it closed again, Edison knew that he and Emma were alone at last.
    “I think, Miss Greyson,” he said, “that after having shared such a remarkably intimate experience, you and I would do well to deepen our acquaintance. I suggest that we find a more comfortable place where we can conduct a private conversation.”
    “Bloody hell,” Emma said.
    “My sentiments precisely.”

C HAPTER T HREE
    B astard.” Emma was still seething when she stalked outside into the heavily shadowed gardens a few minutes later. “Dreadful, slimy, disgusting little bastard.”
    “I have often, with some justification, been accused of being a bastard,” Edison said neutrally. “But few people call me that to my face.”
    Startled, Emma came to a halt beside an overgrown topiary hedge. “I never meant to imply—”
    “And no one,” he continued deliberately, “has ever called me a
little
bastard.”
    He was right. There was nothing small about his person, Emma thought. In addition to size, there was an entirely natural, wholly masculine elegance about Stokes, which many men in the ton must envy. The eye followed him the way it did a large cat on the hunt.
    Chagrined, she said, “I was referring to Chilton Crane, not you, sir.”
    “I am happy to hear that.”
    “I had a word with Mrs. Gatten, the housekeeper, earlier this afternoon after I realized that Crane was here at the castle,” Emma said. “I warned her not to send any of the young maids to his room alone, regardless of the pretext. I also told her to make certain that the females on her staff worked in pairs as much as possible.”
    “I am in complete agreement with your assessment of Chilton Crane,” Edison said. “I assume from your reaction to him that