Thunder and Roses Read Free

wanted to take Clare to the earl without first announcing her, but he had grown up in the village, so she was able to persuade him. He escorted her down a long corridor, then opened the door to the library. “Miss Clare Morgan to see you, my lord. She said her business is urgent.”
     
    Taking a firm grip on her courage, Clare walked past Williams into the library, not wanting to give the earl time to refuse her. If she failed today, she wouldn’t get another chance.
     
    The earl stood by a window, staring out across the valley. His coat had been tossed over a chair, and his shirt-sleeved informality gave him a rakish air. Odd that he had been known as Old Nick; even now, he was scarcely thirty.
     
    As the door closed behind Williams, the earl turned, his forbidding gaze going right to Clare. Though not unusually tall, he radiated power. She remembered that even at the age when most lads were gawky, he had moved with absolute physical mastery.
     
    On the surface, he seemed much the same. If anything, he was even more handsome than he had been four years ago. She would not have thought that possible. But he had indeed changed; she saw it in his eyes. Once they had brimmed with teasing laughter that invited others to laugh with him. Now they were as impenetrable as polished Welsh flint. The duels and flagrant affairs and public scandals had left their mark.
     
    As she hesitated, wondering if she should speak first, he asked, “Are you related to Reverend
     
    Thomas Morgan?”                   
     
    “His daughter. I’m the schoolmistress in Penreith.”
     
    His bored gaze flicked over her. “That’s right, sometimes he had a grubby brat in tow.”
     
    Stung, she retorted, “I wasn’t half as grubby as you were.”
     
    “Probably not,” he agreed, a faint smile in his eyes. “I was a disgrace. During lessons, your father often referred to you as a model of saintly decorum. I hated you sight unseen.”
     
    It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. Hoping that it would irritate him, Clare said sweetly, “And to me, he said that you were the cleverest boy he had ever taught, and that you had a good heart in spite of your wildness.”
     
    “Your father’s judgment leaves much to be desired,” the earl said, his momentary levity vanishing. “As the preacher’s daughter, I assume you are seeking funds for some boring, worthy cause. Apply to my steward in the future rather than bothering me. Good day, Miss Morgan.”
     
    He was starting to turn away when she said quickly,
     
    “What I wish to discuss is not a matter for your steward.”
     
    His mobile lips twisted. “But you do want something, don’t you? Everyone does.”
     
    He strolled to a decanter-covered cabinet and refilled a glass that he had been carrying. “Whatever it is, you won’t get it from me. Noblesse oblige was my grandfather’s province. Kindly leave while the atmosphere is still civil.”
     
    She realized uneasily that he was well on his way to being drunk. Well, she had dealt with drunks before. “Lord Aberdare, people in Penreith are suffering, and you are the only man in a position to make a difference. It will cost you very little in time or money …”
     
    “I don’t care how little is involved,” he said forcefully. “I don’t want anything to do with the village, or the people who live in it! Is that clear? Now get the hell out.”
     
    Clare felt her stubbornness rising. “I am not asking for your help, my lord, I am demanding it,” she snapped. “Shall I explain now, or should I wait until you’re sober?”
     
    He regarded her with amazement. “If anyone here is drunk, it would appear to be you.      If you think your sex will protect you from physical force, you’re wrong. Will you go quietly, or am I going to have to carry you out?” He moved toward her with purposeful strides, his white, open-throated shirt emphasizing the intimidating breadth of his shoulders.
     
    Resisting the