My Lord Deceived Read Free Page A

Billy could
reach, and it was the only place they had in the house that was big
enough to hold the bolts of cloth. “Alright,” he replied, kicking
dejectedly at the stones beneath their feet. “For now, I will stay
with mother.” He turned to glare at her defiantly. “When I am older
though, I am definitely going out.”
    Kat nodded
absently and glanced up as a flurry of movement across the harbour
caught her eye. Her heart lodged in her throat at the familiar
sight of Jonathan Arbinger who was riding around the harbour toward
them. She glanced down at Billy’s disparaging snort and smiled
distractedly at him.
    “I take it you
don’t like him,” Kat muttered. She tried hard not to stare at the
handsome vision Jonathan made riding astride the huge chestnut
horse.
    “Flaming
nabob,” Billy snapped in disgust.
    “Billy Baird,
don’t you dare use swear words like that,” she chastised him.
    “Morning
Catherine, Billy,” Jonathan drawled, slowing his horse to a walk.
He nodded amiably as he passed, but made no attempt to stop. The
glance he flicked at Billy was brief. All of his senses were tuned
to the beautiful young woman battling with the fly away strands of
hair tickling her cheeks. His fingers tightened on the reins with
the urge to reach out and stroke them away. The opportunity to
study her was far too brief as far as he was concerned, and it was
a wrench to have to turn his gaze away once he had passed them. He
had to struggle with the urge to turn back to see if she was
looking and, instead, turned to nod at Mrs Fitzsimmons in the shop.
Uncharacteristically, he paused to chat to the woman. Although her
general enquiry as to the health of his uncle didn’t warrant him
stopping, he took the excuse to be able to turn sideways in the
saddle and pass the time of day with the elderly woman who stood in
the shop doorway. He flicked the much needed glance behind him, and
watched Catherine walk with her brother around the harbour toward
the Shipwright Inn where she worked. She moved with an effortless
grace that was most soothing on the eye, and he sighed regretfully
when she moved into the darkened doorway of the drinking
establishment and out of sight.
    He had loved
Catherine Baird since the first moment he had clapped eyes on her
when he was nine years old. He had been playing in the orchard when
she had come to Dentham Hall, his family home, with her mother to
speak to the cook about the arrangements for the harvest festival.
The family always provided the use of one of the fields for the
locals to hold their annual celebration that marked the end of the
gathering of the harvest. Although he hadn’t spoken to her, she
being six years old at the time, he had never forgotten the
soul-less dark eyes in the pixie-like face that was embraced by
those riotous curls that had haunted his every waking moment ever
since. Most of his evening at the harvest festival that year, and
every year since, had been spent swooning over her from a distance.
He had watched her laugh and dance with a youthful enthusiasm that
had been infectious, and he had found himself envying her for her
familiarity with the locals, and envying the locals for their
familiarity with her. He had spent several weeks afterward asking
questions about her and making any excuse possible to head into the
village in the hope of catching sight of her.
    Although he
hadn’t realised it at the time, on each occasion he had seen her,
he had fallen in love just a little bit more. Now, as a grown man,
his adventures had taken him to numerous continents, and he had
experienced many, many adventures; some better than others.
However, he had never forgotten the place called home, or the one
particular woman who drew him to return time and again. He knew
that at some point in the not too distant future, the expectancy on
him to continue the family name would call upon him to select a
wife and settle down but, right now, he couldn’t countenance that
wife being