Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) Read Free

illusion of warmth and security. If she had been in a proper state of mind, she might have invited her guests inside. As it was, they remained shivering in the darkness of the late January hour.
                “An altercation,” she repeated, her voice small and trembling. “With whom?”
                Lucius dragged his feet up the steps behind his father, his gaze never leaving the ground.
                “A nameless scoundrel,” Banning replied. “The man provoked Lucius, and your father stepped between them.”
                Hearing his name, Lucius’ eyes flicked toward Evelyn. He could not speak, could not convey his regret over what had transpired. Emmett Brennan was a better father than his own, and Lucius had loved him.
    Lucius knew the dead man should be himself. He knew this all too well.
    For an instant, Evelyn met his gaze, felt the flicker of panic in her chest blaze into anger. She looked away, gritting her teeth against the overwhelming desire to scream.
                Her father was dead, and Lucius was alive. Her father had saved a scoundrel, had laid down his life for this foolish, temperamental boy.
                “So,” she said, as evenly as her fury allowed, “Lucius is to blame?”
                Banning’s grip tightened upon her arm.
    “No, lass. You mustn’t believe that. There is no one to blame but the bastard who provoked him, the fiend who wielded the knife.”
    At this new bit of information, Evelyn teetered backwards on her feet. The tears she withheld choked her, and she coughed.
    In barely more than a whisper, she murmured, “stabbed?”
    Her father. A tender bear of a man, with ruddy cheeks so full they eclipsed his eyes when he smiled. So soft, so kind, so upright.
    A slow death. A painful death. Blood and agony and fear. All without his daughter to soothe any of it away. All without his girl to fare him well.
    Her anger melted away, leaving behind the cool ashes of despair and loneliness.
     It really did not matter who did it. Her father was gone. And she was still here, orphaned and alone.
     
     

Chapter Three
     
    New York City, 1849
     
    Penelope stroked the back of Lucius’ neck, smoothing his hair beneath her caramel-colored fingers.
    “I want you to tell me everything,” she insisted, her voice smooth and persuasive. “I hate it when men hide behind their secrets.”         
    Lucius chuckled.
    “Well, if we’re going to be honest ,” he started, lingering on the word, “I suppose I do have a secret.”
    Penelope smiled hesitantly, somewhat surprised he had given in so quickly.
    “All right,” she said slowly, “tell me everything.”
    Lucius cast a look about the room. He was huddled in a dark corner, wrapped in the silky arms of a Madrid-born beauty, a haze of smoke engulfing them. Penelope had a thing for cigars.
    She was grand. They had danced twice, and he knew she wanted more. But this was his last night as a bachelor, and there was an appetizing blonde woman sitting alone at the bar. He knew that if he didn’t get over to her soon, some other bastard would snatch her up.
    “Are you sure you want to know?” he asked Penelope, his attention still divided. She, however, didn’t seem to notice. “After all, we’ve only just met. We have an entire lifetime to learn about one another.”
    Penelope swung her head and released a drunken squeal.
    “Tell me, Lucius Flynn!” she hollered.
    Had he given her his last name? He must have, though he could not remember when.
    “All right then,” he said, a little irritated. “You’ll have to come a little closer. I’m not about to shout back at you.”
    Penelope pouted, then abruptly leaned forward.
    Lucius cleared his throat. The following three words were not very easy for him to say. They still felt surreal, no matter how long it had been since they had become his reality.
    “I’m getting married,” he nearly