The Blue Devil (The Regency Matchmaker Series) Read Free

loved each other, had only been able to endure the rigors of having one child, Kathryn herself.
    Listening now to the muffled, angry-sounding voices of this couple, Kathryn’s resolve strengthened. No. She would ask Ophelia to find her a husband who definitely did not want children. Perhaps Ophelia could find a widower with a liking for windswept country hills, one who already had an heir.
    After a few moments, the couple seemed quite distracted. She could hear struggling and grunting and then something which sounded like ripping cloth. Now was her chance. She slipped deftly from the clothespress and raced in what she thought was the direction of the outer door—only to smash into the cheval glass, re-injuring her already throbbing toe. The pain was intense, and Kathryn cried out. “Owee! Owee! Owee- me !” It was the pain chant she’d invented while just a toddler. It never failed to embarrass her when it escaped her, but she could no more stop it than she could stop breathing—something Kathryn fervently wished she could do just then, for just as the stupid pain chant left her lips, the woman cried out from behind her.
    “Who is there? Blackshire! We are not alone!”
    Kathryn wildly groped for the door and flung it open, flooding the room with weak light from the dim hall sconces. She ran blindly, looking for a place to hide until she came upon a darkened, shadowy alcove where stood a large, ornate statue carved in the shape of a satyr. There was just barely enough room for Kathryn to squeeze behind it
    The lady appeared first. She rushed past Kathryn’s hiding place, crying and holding the ripped bodice of her white muslin gown to her chest with one delicate hand. Why, she was younger than Kathryn by a margin of at least five years! She was dressed as Artemis, and a small diamond-studded archer’s bow, entangled in her long, brown curls, swung wildly across her shoulder as she ran. But Kathryn had no time to further contemplate her appearance or her tender years, for the gentleman emerged from the room, calling after her.
    “Lydia!” he hissed. “Lydia, you must not be seen in that state. Come back here—at once!”
    But Lydia did not heed him. She ran headlong down the hall sobbing instead, and disappeared around a comer. Kathryn was stunned. It seemed she’d been mistaken. Poor Lydia had not been the participant of a tryst. No. The dear girl had been sorely used. Taken advantage of. Compromised unwillingly!
    Kathryn turned to deliver a set-down to the man—who was certainly not a gentleman—but her breath caught in her throat as his gaze swiveled in her direction, and she shrank back into the dark alcove. The beast’s eyes were black as midnight, and the sconce light seemed to flash and glint across them as though they were made of obsidian. Hard they were, hard and cold. Kathryn sensed the man was angry beyond measure, and she was gripped with a sudden, paralyzing fear.
    Her intended scolding stuck, nearly forgotten, in her throat as the man drew from the pocket of his trousers a blue satin demi-masque and tied it over his eyes. Kathryn blinked. If he thought to conceal his identity and escape the house, she decided with satisfaction he wasn’t going to be very successful. His thick, dark hair was unfashionably long, and, even without the uncommon style, he’d hardly be difficult to spot across a crowded ballroom, for he was tall and broad-shouldered. In fact, he looked quite strong. Quite strong and quite able to overpower a lone female, Kathryn realized. She wondered how poor Lydia had escaped.
    Would Kathryn herself be so lucky, if the need arose?
    Softly, the man swore, and the tenor of his voice surprised her. Silken, and strangely warm, it did not match his harsh expression but soothed itself around Kathryn’s senses like a whispered promise. A sudden, ridiculous desire to hear him sing overtook her, and she had to suppress a giggle of rising panic.
    Would anyone hear her if she screamed? The