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

horn button a few inches from her nose and realized again how disturbingly tall he was, up close. She wanted to take a step back, but found that she could not.
    Not from reluctance, thank God, but because the mud had already closed around her trim ankle boots, holding them fast.
    “Lady Morley?” Mr. Burke’s voice rumbled next to her ear.
    “My boots,” she said feebly, looking down. “It appears they’re stuck.”
    “A curious species of mud,” he observed, bending in a sinuous motion and grasping at her ankle. “Extraordinarily viscous.” He pulled firmly, freeing one foot and then, as she was forced to lean against him, the other.
    Then he lifted her, actually lifted her—her breasts pressing against the ridge of his shoulder, his broad arm lying firmly against the backs of her legs—and placed her on a rock. She felt the round eyes of her companions, staring.
    “Thank you,” she said primly, shaking free the folds of her mud-slicked coat.
    “Not at all.” He had evidently ridden on ahead. She could hear the sound of hoofbeats to her left, Wallingford and Penhallow drawing near, but she could not, for a few vital seconds, bring herself to look away from Phineas Burke’s green eyes. Their color had muted, out here in the chill gray Italian morning, more lichen now than grass, rimmed with lashes a few shades darker than his hair. They regarded her with sober warmth, completely absent of any sort of invitation or flirtation, scattering her wits.
    Such a particular stare, a knowing stare, teeming with the memory of last night’s encounter in the stables. Alexandra could hear the beat of her heart thumping against her eardrum. Surely his curiosity hadn’t been piqued; surely he hadn’t discovered her secrets already?
    No, it was impossible. He could have no knowledge of her personal affairs, no idea of the straits to which she’d been reduced. All the world knew that Lord Morley’s widow must be a wealthy woman.
    “Look here, Burke,” came Wallingford’s voice, making a sharp crack through the charged air. “You’re supposed to be leading us wretched sinners down the path of scholarly virtue, not seducing the first willing woman to cross your path.”
    Mr. Burke’s head snapped up, as if someone had nudged him with a cattle prod. He stumbled backward, his boots slipping in the mud, and turned to the brothers. “For God’s sake, I was only offering my assistance.”
    The duke pulled up a few yards away, his wide mouth turned upward with amusement. “What an unseemly predicament you’ve gotten yourself into, Lady Morley. Typically impulsive behavior, to set out in carts with the roads knee-deep in mud.”
    “We’re in a hurry,” she said, preparing to rise in full haughty splendor and shatter the duke’s disdain. She was brought up short, however, by the realization that she wasn’t wearing any boots. Those, she saw in horror, still dangled absently from Mr. Burke’s right hand.
    She closed her eyes and cleared her throat.
    “Mr. Burke, if you would be so kind as to return my boots.”
    He gave a start and looked down at his hand. “Good God. I’m so terribly sorry. Here you are . . . If you’ll allow me . . .” He made a motion as if to put them back on her himself.
    “Quite all right,” she said swiftly, snatching them from his hand. She could feel her face erupt in a blush. “You needn’t bother.”
    Her words seemed to startle Abigail out of her shocked immobility. “Oh, Alex, let me,” she said, darting forward contritely and taking the left boot.
    “Tell me, Wallingford,” gasped out Alexandra, since she could not quite bring herself to address Mr. Burke’s green eyes, “what hideous mischance brings you along the same road this morning? Are you headed for Siena?”
    “No,” he answered, and then, after a brief pause: “Are you?”
    “No.” Her heel slid down at last and she began to relace the boot. “Are you determined to watch the entire process, Your