Something In Red (Fancytales Regency Romance Series) Read Free Page A

this evening, my lady.” He bowed before her, and then rose, a slight grin turning up the corners of his mouth.
    “Pressing matters to attend, you understand,” Damien explained. In fact, the over-eager swain now sported a blackened eye and a split and bleeding lip, not to mention a pair or more of sorely bruised, if not broken, ribs.
    Stupid fellow. Boasting of one's intention to compromise the grand-daughter of an earl was not the brightest of ideas, but to further explain how one intended to do so was the sheer height of lunacy. Yet that was exactly what Burley Woodhurst had done.
    He had even gone so far as to have it written in the betting books at his gentleman's club. A pity one of his young comrades had taken the tale to a lady-love who had spoken with the countess, and she had, in turn, come to Damien for assistance.
    The boy planned to do exactly as Damien himself had done – overtake her carriage as she made her way to the masquerade ball at her grandmother's estate in the country.
    How surprised he had been when, after successfully halting the carriage, he found himself facing Damien and his driver over a brace of pistols.
    The chiming of the clock upon the mantle proclaimed the hour. The countess adjusted her ivory feathered mask in preparation for joining the growing crowd of guests below.
    Apparently satisfied with its arrangement, Althea took up her fringed, cream silk shawl, passed the pouch she had retrieved earlier to Damien, and crossed the room where she opened the door leading into the hallway. “You have my undying gratitude, Lord Wolfe.”
    Hefting the pouch in his hand for a moment, Damien watched in silence while, pulling the cream colored shawl across her shoulders, the countess fussed with the loose ends for a bit before a frown settled across her brow. He followed her to the door, surreptitiously depositing the pouch on a corner of the escritoire as he passed.
    They were standing in the dimly lit corridor outside the sitting room when she said, “I must have forgotten the pin.”
    “Pin?” Damien asked.
    Waving away his question, the countess ordered him to “wait here,” and then stepped past him back into the room.
    He waited, but when, after several minutes, she still had not re-appeared, Damien's impatience got the better of him. Leaning close, he rapped his knuckles three times in quick succession against the closed door. “Countess?”
    “What are you doing outside my grandmother's room?”
    Lady Rhiad's muted whisper hissed into his ear. Damien turned and put his fingers against his lips, signaling to her for silence. Another knock, and then he said, “Countess Ashwood? Lady Althea, I am coming in.”
    Silence.
    Damien's muscles bunched in preparation for forcible entry into the room, and then tensed all the more when Rhiad's small hand caught at his shoulder.
    “You cannot mean to break down her door! Good heavens, my lord, I had thought you but teased me earlier in reference to the story, but I cannot allow you to harm my grandmother.” She put herself between him and the door. “Go away , Lord Wolfe.”
    “Of all the preposterous, idiotic assumptions.” Damien's eyes narrowed and he peered at her for the space of a heartbeat. Did she really think he meant the countess harm?
    In one move, he caught her by the shoulders and set her out of the way. One quick spin, and she was facing the staircase. “Go play, Red. Hie yourself off downstairs and smile and dance and flirt with the fellows like a good spoiled little princess while I find out what has detained your grandmother.”
    He swatted her bottom for good measure, ignoring her quickly indrawn breath at the impropriety of his action, and returned to the task at hand. His shoulder met the door with more than a little force, and it slammed inward. He caught it before it could crash against the opposite wall, his keen gaze taking in the room in one swift pass.
    Everything was exactly as it had been when he'd stepped through