Seacliff Read Free Page B

fingers and the fire-touch of his mouth. And then, with the grass soft beneath her and the sun filtered by the trees, she had—
    “Cat? Cat, this is where we turn off.”
    Caitlin blinked away the images swirling around her, put a hand to her cheek and felt the flush of her memory. She nodded, not daring to speak. Without warning Gwen, she leaned hard over her mount’s neck, nudging its flank with her crop, and whispered into its silky ear. In no time, the chestnut exploded into a gallop down a narrow lane lined with towering oaks. The foliage blurred past, the wind wove through her hair, and before long she was laughing again and listening to Gwen’s shouts as she raced after her.
    And Griffin, she thought then, could go straight to hell. He could have had her if he’d truly wanted her. But he hadn’t even put up a fight. It was his loss. And it served him damned right! She really didn’t care anyway. She’d been a lot younger then, and hadn’t known her own mind.
    F ive minutes later, just as the trees fell away to expose Morgan’s estate, she slowed her mount to a halt.
    The house at the end of the circular drive was not overly large and, because it stood in the middle of sprawling lawns bordered by forest-land rich and verdant, it appeared much smaller. Morgan Hall was a large-beamed Tudor structure built during the reign of Elizabeth, comfortable enough, without ostentation, and near enough to its neighbors, despite the woods, so as not to seem unpleasantly isolated. Oliver’s grandfather had purchased it after his tour in the army, and it was maintained by his father, who’d been shrewd enough to invest much of his officer’s pay in the mercantile business. A forest of chimneys populated the angular roof; diamond-shaped panes of leaded glass reflected the last rays of the sun. The exterior glowed because it had been freshly whitewashed, and the flowers and tall shrubs that grew around the house seemed to be waiting especially for her coming.
    On the steps leading up to the front door stood a white-haired, slouch-shouldered man whose face was heavily lined and whose red and black livery seemed too large. He held Caitlin’s reins wordlessly as she dismounted, and led the horses away to the small cluster of stables near the line of trees on the left. Gwen looked after him with a faint moue of distaste.
    “Nasty old brute, isn’t he?” she said, following Caitlin inside.
    “Oh, Bradford’s all right. You just don’t give him a chance.”
    Gwen’s expression was doubtful. “Has he ever smiled at you? Does he ever bid you good morning?”
    Caitlin shook her head. “But he’s a quiet man; that’s all. He’s been with Oliver’s family for years.” She paused. “But I do wish he didn’t look as if he were eating lemons all the time.”
    Gwen giggled, and covered her mouth quickly.
    The foyer was wide and unadorned, flowing to a sitting room on the left dominated by a ceiling-high fireplace. On the right was an ornate dining room. When neither Mrs. Thorn, the cook, nor Mary, the sullen maid, came out to greet them, Caitlin shrugged off her cloak and handed it to Gwen.
    “Oliver will be home soon, I imagine,” she said, heading for the fan-shaped staircase that swept to a landing beneath a round, stained-glass window. “I’d better clean up. He hates me smelling like a horse. Tell Mary I’ll need plenty of hot water, will you?” Then she stopped and hurried back, planted a solid kiss on Gwen’s cheek, and thanked her breathlessly. “You do help me manage, you know. You really do.”
    And before Gwen could respond, Caitlin was running up the steps, hurrying down the corridor to the sanctuary of her large sunny apartment overlooking the front of the house. It had a massive pair of wardrobes in scrolled walnut, a gold canopy bed raised on a dais covered with wine velvet, a canted-beamed ceiling, a crescent vanity and several mirrors, some armchairs, a chaise lounge, and a fireplace much smaller