The Pretender Read Free Page A

meant finding Jamie.
    James Cunnington was a soldier, away fighting Napoleon the last Agatha had heard from him. He had written her every week, and had for four years, until two months past.
    Then there had been no word from him in any way. Despite all her inquiries to the army, she had received no answers, even after all this time.
    Spurred by her need to find Jamie, a need that became more desperate by the hour, Agatha had packed a trunk and bought a ticket on the next coach, leaving her estate of Appleby for London. Her servants had aided her escape, and she knew they would keep her whereabouts hidden for as long as possible.
    It wouldn't do for Repulsive Reggie to find her before she found her brother. She'd be forced back to Appleby and to the altar with all the speed of Reggie's thwarted ambitions.
    "Marrying" Mortimer had simply made the journey easier. No one questioned a married woman's morality in traveling alone, not in wartime with so many husbands gone.
    When she had been inspired to investigate the Chelsea Hospital in London for news of dear Jamie, it had been her married status that had allowed her in and enabled her to volunteer to care for the wounded.
    Still, creating an alias to travel under and presenting the world with an actual false husband were two entirely different kettles of flounder.
    "Hello, love. Here I am."
    Pulled back to the present, Agatha looked up… and up… to see one of the handsomest men she had ever laid eyes on.
    Jamie's trousers fit the fellow a bit closely about the hips, although not excessively so for the current fashion. Rather too much for Agatha's peace of mind, however.
    She yanked her gaze from dangerous ground and followed the rest of the transformation upward.
    Jamie's snowy shirt and dark green waistcoat gave no reason for dismay, but the morning coat, oh my. While the cut across the shoulders was quite fine and the nipped waist fit perfectly, the cobalt color gave far too much emphasis to those twinkling blue eyes.
    His cravat was only loosely tied round his collar, in a way rather more suited to a pirate than a gentleman, showing a bit too much of strong brown throat.
    A lethal combination indeed. It was very odd how her imagination proceeded to remove every one of those articles of Jamie's clothing from his frame, until in her mind's eye he stood as nearly naked as before.
    "What? Don't it fit?" The chimneysweep flexed both shoulders and twisted at the waist to see behind him. "I thought it looked right nice, I did."
    "Oh, no, you look wond—adequate, perfectly adequate." Agatha forced her wicked imagination to re-dress him. "Please, come in and sit. I have a boon to ask of you."
    The fellow smiled slightly at her, and. Agatha had to fist her hands to keep from tracing the dimples indenting each side of his mouth.
    She was attracted to him. How unthinkably inappropriate of her. Not to mention inconvenient. Really, was there no end to the obstacles in her path?
    Agatha shot a look full of her irritation at the fellow before her and watched his beautiful smile fade. Good. If she could maintain her vexation for a while, the day would go easier for her. Yes indeed. A brisk, no-nonsense manner was called for.
    Agatha indicated the seat opposite her. "Please sit, Mr.—?"
    "Rain, Simon Rain." He sat and continued to look at her expectantly.
    The clock chimed three-quarters of the hour, and Agatha knew she didn't have much time to explain.
    "I have a need for a gentleman to attend me today. You need do nothing, really, merely smile and greet my guests. I will do all the talking." Agatha sat back and smiled. There. Rather succinct, if she did say so herself.
    "Whafore?" Mr. Rain frowned. "I mean, I'd like to help you, mum, but I won't do nothing what's wrong. This here don't sound much close to right, not a bit of it."
    "Oh, no. There's nothing wrong here at all. I shall simply introduce you as my husband, you shall bow over the ladies' hands, we shall all sit for the standard