A Lady Never Lies by Juliana Gray Read Free Book Online Page A

holding her hand above her eyes, though there wasn’t any sun to speak of. “Aren’t those the gentlemen from last night?” she asked, her voice high and eager against a gust of breeze.
    “Oh, the devil take them,” Alexandra muttered under her breath. “It would be, wouldn’t it?”
    She rose on her toes and stretched her considerable neck, trying to peer through the dank air. Sure enough, that unmistakable ginger hair popped into view, pale red gold against the grayness of rock and road and sky, before disappearing again under the blackness of his hat. They were all riding horses, presumably far ahead of whatever vehicle was conveying their baggage, and Alexandra cursed rather more picturesquely. She ought to have ridden, too, on these roads. If it weren’t for the little boy . . . but she quashed that thought instantly. They could never have left Philip behind.
    For one wild instant, Alexandra imagined hiding between the massive rocks by the roadside. Or, more romantically, throwing the sailcloth over her head and pretending to be a peasant woman. She looked at the cart, at the shabby brown horses, at the driver, at the mud: Anything at all to escape the unfolding horror.
    “Come, ladies,” she said, because she’d be damned if she’d accept imminent humiliation like a dumbstruck peasant awaiting the emperor’s arrival. “Let’s sort out the trunks, shall we?”
    The driver had already climbed down from his seat, pulling back the rest of the sailcloth with the languorous movements of a man who saw no reason to rush any of life’s adventures. Abigail skipped up next to her and reached inside for one handle of her single leather-bound trunk. Alexandra took the other and heaved.
    It was heavy. Much heavier than she’d expected, and firmly wedged against its neighbors. “What the devil did you pack, my dear?” she asked, breathless, pulling again, to no effect.
    “Only clothes. And . . . well, and perhaps a few books. A
very
few.”
    “Books! I
expressly
forbade books!” The words came out in a puff of lost breath that lacked the weight Alexandra intended.
    “Only a few, Alex! Not more than a dozen, I promise! I knew”—she huffed and tugged—“I knew this castle of yours wouldn’t have anything
recent . . .
”
    “Novels! You’ve brought
novels
!” Alexandra accused, and then, quite by coincidence, the sisters managed to heave at the same time, and the trunk gave way into Alexandra’s chest, knocking her into a particularly sloppy patch of mud.
    Cold
, sloppy mud.
    Abigail dropped to her knees. “Oh, Alex! I’m so awfully sorry! Are you all right?”
    “Quite all right, thank you,” Alexandra gasped, “if you’ll perhaps be so good as to remove this damned
crate of novels
from my chest.”
    “Oh yes, of course.” Abigail tugged the trunk from her sister’s wool-covered torso and into the mud beside her.
    Alexandra struggled to sit upright. “After I gave express instructions that only academic subjects are to be considered . . .”
    “Alex,” said her sister, in a strange voice, “you might . . .”
    “If you don’t
mind
, Abigail. These damned useless
skirts . . .
” She struggled to plant her feet in the slick layer of mud.
    Lilibet interrupted. “Er, Alexandra, my dear . . .”
    “Aren’t either of you going to
help
me? Those damned gentlemen will be here in a matter of minutes . . .”
    “Lady Morley.”
    The words moved low and quiet through the sodden air.
    With a lurch of her innards, Alexandra looked up into the face of Mr. Phineas Burke, bent toward her with grave care, his black-gloved hand outstretched. “May I be of assistance?” he inquired.
    As if she had a choice.
    She let out a little sigh and placed her hand in his.
    His walnut-cracking fingers closed around hers, large and capable, and she found herself rising weightlessly from the Tuscan mud to stand before him, entirely too close to that formidable chest. She stared at the plain