Secrets of Midnight by Miriam Minger Read Free Book Online

himself to her now,
the untidy baggage.
    It was obvious she cared passionately for her cause to
berate him up and down like a veritable harpy, but let her find out for herself
that the Trents of Dorset weren't all cut from the same wretched cloth—yet,
hell, she'd probably still distrust his motives anyway, given who he was. But
what in blazes did he care what Miss Corisande Easton thought of him? As soon
as he found a way out of his current predicament, he'd be gone from Cornwall so
fast that . . .
    Donovan didn't finish the thought, his eyes sweeping
over the incensed young woman standing before him as if seeing her for the very
first time.
    By God, of course! It could work, though it irritated
the hell out of him that he'd have to go to such lengths to gain his
inheritance, damn his father's soul. But he'd do anything if it would help him
find Paloma. Why not use this situation to his benefit? This woman wasn't
gentry, but a country-bred parson's daughter couldn't be said not to come from
good family, oh, no, indeed.
    ". . . uncaring, selfish creatures who should
crawl under the nearest rock for shame of everything they've done! Better yet,
you deserve every curse that could befall a household. Fire, pestilence, the
pox—"
    "Are you betrothed, Miss Easton?"
    Startled, Corisande stopped in mid-sentence and gaped
at the man. She'd been expecting some reply, her heated attack clearly riling
him as his swarthy face had grown darker. But this? "I—I don't see that
your having the pox has anything to do with my being betrothed. Or that my
personal affairs are any of your business."
    "That's what we're discussing now, Miss Easton.
Business. A business arrangement, to be exact." To her amazement, he took
her by the elbow and half pulled her along with him until, some forty feet from
the stable, he seemed satisfied and stopped beneath a tall, stately elm to face
her, keeping his voice very low. "Are you betrothed or not?"
    She felt her face burning as with fever, why, she wasn't
sure. She really shouldn't answer—didn't have to answer. But for some strange reason, she slowly shook her head.
    "Can't say that I'm surprised," came his wry response, which only made Corisande bristle
again.
    "If you mean to insult me, my lord—"
    "No, I mean to ask you if you'd be my wife."
    She gulped, flushing now all the way down to her toes. But
before she could say a word, he continued, his tone very matter-of-fact and
more than a little brusque.
    "It's merely a business arrangement, Miss Easton.
Nothing more, I assure you, and one I believe you'd be a fool to refuse. A very
temporary marriage in exchange for the improved well-being of the miners and
their families—"
    "Not miners," she interrupted stiffly,
finding it difficult to believe a thing she was hearing. It was all so
incredible, how could she? "We call them tinners here."
    "Very well, tinners. As I was saying, a temporary
marriage that will be annulled no more than a few weeks after the wedding, my
father's will stipulating that I cannot receive my inheritance until I've taken
a bride. But I don't want a bride, and I don't want to be married—especially if
I'm being forced into it. I'm only complying because I need the money. That's
why I'm here in Cornwall." Donovan waved his arm in disgust at the house
and surrounding estate. "Do you think I'd have come to this ramshackle place
for any other reason? Now, you want my help for the tinners, and I need a
bride. You look intelligent enough to recognize a mutually profitable
situation, Miss Easton. What is your answer?"
    Corisande met his eyes, which had become as black as
midnight in this shaded spot. "Truthfully, my lord, you're the last man on
God's earth I'd consent to wed, or ever trust for that matter. Don't count on
me to help you win your bloody inheritance."
    With that, she wrenched away her arm and turned,
gasping when she was suddenly pulled back to face him.
    "So your concern for the tinners and their hungry
families is