Innocent Courtesan to Adventurer's Bride Read Free Page A

indulgence in lobster and too many cheroots, the staff had looked to her as the temporary head of the household.
    She was, they accepted, Lord Dreycott’s house guest, a distant acquaintance in need of a roof over her head because of the indisposition of an aunt. Her eyes filled with tears at the memory of his kindness, masked behind a pretence of cantankerous bad humour. He had read Aunt Clara’s scribbled note, asked a few sharp questions, then rang for Trimble and informed him that Miss Haddon was staying for the foreseeable future.
    Lord Dreycott had waved her out of his crowded, book-strewn library with an impatient gesture, but she had seen how his other hand caressed the note, the twisted, brown-spotted fingers gentle on the thick paper. He was doing this for Clara, for some memory of a past relationship, she realised, and Lina had not taken any notice of his gruffness after that.
    Now she took her place and waited, her face schooled into a calm expressionless mask as she had learned to do for years in the face of Papa’s furies over some minor sin or another. Her fingers trembled slightly, making a tiny rustling noise against the crisp black silk, and she pressed the tips together to still them. Somehow she had to persuade this man to let her stay here without telling him why.
    At last, the sound of hooves on the carriage drive. Paul, the second footman, swayed back on his heels to keep an unobtrusive watch out of the narrow slit of glass beside the front door then, as the sound of male voices penetrated the thick panels, he swung it open with a flourish. The new Lord Dreycott had arrived.
    â€˜My lord.’ Trimble stepped through on to the arcaded entrance and bowed. ‘Welcome to Dreycott Park.’
    Staring past the butler’s narrow shoulders, Lina could see only glimpses of the horses—a curving dappled grey rump and a long white tail, the arch of a black neck, the bulk of oilskin-wrapped cases piled on a pack saddle. Then the grey shifted and she saw its rider fleetingly. A dust-coloured coat draped over the horse’s rump; long soft boots without spurs sagged softly at the ankles; hair the colour of polished mahogany showed over-long beneath a wide-brimmed hat. He swung down out of the saddle and, even with the narrow view between butler and pillar, she saw the ease and suppleness of a fit man.
    As he turned she dropped her gaze and Trimble backed into the hall to allow his new master entrance. Lina focused on where Lord Dreycott’s mouth would be. That felt a safe place to look. It was becoming easier now, but ever since that night she had to make herself meet a man’s eyes directly.
    The male servants were deferential, trained never to stare, and she felt comfortable with them. Old Lord Dreycott’s rheumy, long-sighted gaze had held no terrors for her, but when any other man met her eyes for more than a moment she felt the panic building, her heart pattered in alarm and her hands clenched with the need to control her urge to run. She must overcome it, she knew, especially with the new baron, lest he guessed she had something to hide.
    The swirling skirts of his riding coat filled the doorway and the booted feet stopped just inside, set apart with a confident stance that seemed to come naturally, rather than as a deliberate statement of ownership. Lina found herself staring, not at his mouth as she had expected, butat the carelessly tied neckcloth at his throat. This was a tall man. Her eyes shifted cautiously up to his jaw, darkened with several days’ stubble. When he pulled off the heavy leather gauntlets and slapped them against his coat it became apparent that it was dust-coloured because it was covered in dust.
    â€˜My lord.’ Trimble coughed slightly as he took gloves and hat. ‘On behalf of the staff, may I offer our condolences at the loss of your great-uncle? I am Trimble, my lord.’
    â€˜But I remember you,’ Lord Dreycott said with a