This Wicked Gift

This Wicked Gift Read Free Page B

Book: This Wicked Gift Read Free
Author: Courtney Milan
Tags: Fiction, Historical Romance
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prodded the mass with a
spoon, then shrugged and looked up. “Want some?”
    Over fifteen years, Lavinia had become
quite fluent in the foreign tongue known as Younger Brother. It was a tricky
language, mostly because it employed words and phrases that sounded,
deceptively, as if they were proper English.
    For instance, the average woman off the
street would have thought that James had just offered her burned porridge.
Lavinia knew better. What James had   actually   said
was, “Sorry I stole your money. I made you breakfast by way of apology. Forgive
me?”
    Lavinia sighed and waved her hand. “Give
me a bowl.”
    That   was Younger Brother for: “Your porridge is
disgusting, but I love you nonetheless.”
    By unspoken consensus, as they prepared a
tray to bring to their father in bed, James cut a slice of bread and Lavinia
slipped it on a toasting fork. Ill as their father was, there was no need to
punish him with either the details of James’s transgression or an indigestible
breakfast.
    And perhaps, Lavinia thought as she choked
down the nauseating glutinous mass, that was the essence of love. Love wasn’t
about reasons. It wasn’t about admiring fine qualities. Love was a language all
on its own, composed of gestures that seemed incomprehensible, perhaps even
pointless, to the outside observer.
    Speaking of the inarticulate language of
love, what had Mr. William Q. White meant by his outrageous   behavior last night?   Come find me,   he’d said. His words had seemed to
come straight from her imagination.
    But surely he hadn’t meant for her to look
up the address he’d given when he applied for a subscription? Surely he didn’t
mean she should pay him a visit? A woman who intended to keep her virtue did
not visit a man, even if he did have lovely eyes and a voice that spoke of dark
seduction.   Especially   if
he had those features. Lavinia had gone nineteen years without making
any errors at all on that front.
    As it happens, I prefer   Lavinia.   Come find me.
    She didn’t need to remember the heat of
his gaze as he looked at her to know he hadn’t asked her to pay an innocent
little morning call.
    And yet what had her streak of perfection
gotten her? Months and months of painstaking tallies had done her no good. Her
coins were gone and the very thought of the barren holiday that awaited her
family made her palms grow cold.
    This somewhat dubious rationale brought
Lavinia to the dark, imposing door of 12 Norwich Court. It was not quite an
hour after noon, but a dark gray cloud hovered over the tall, bulky houses and
blocked all hint of the feeble sun. A wild wind whipped down the street,
carrying with it the last few tired leaves from some faraway square and the
earthy scent of winter mold. Lavinia pulled her cloak about her in the gloom.
    This residential street—little more than a
dingy alley, really—was occupied at present only by an   orange cat. The animal was a solitary
spot of color against the gray-streaked buildings. In the next hour, Lavinia’s
life could change. Completely. Before she could
reconsider, she rapped the knocker firmly against the door. She could feel the
blood pounding in her wrists.
    And then she waited. She’d almost
convinced herself there was nothing unsafe or untoward about this visit.
According to the subscription card, Mr. William Q. White had a room on the
second floor of a house owned by Mrs. Jane Entwhistle—a cheerful, elderly widow
who sometimes visited the lending library in search of gothic novels. Mrs.
Entwhistle would doubtless be willing to play chaperone at Lavinia’s request.
She might even be kindhearted enough to look the other way.
    The door opened.
    “Oh, Mrs. Entwhistle,” Lavinia started.
And then she stopped.
    It was not the bustling widow who’d opened
the door, nor Mary Lee Evans, the scullery maid who was the object of Mrs.
Entwhistle’s complaints.
    Behind the threshold, Mr. William Q. White
stood in his shirtsleeves. He was in a

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