A Lady’s Secret by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online Page B

with the red breast?”
    “Cheerful and friendly.” She must have made a sound, because he said, “Have I not stood your friend? And I am willing to be more so.”
    “You’re tiresome.”
    “I’m wounded, Sparrow.”
    “I know that allusion. ‘Who did kill Cock Robin? I, said the Sparrow, with my bow and arrow….’ I mean you no harm, sir, whereas you are wearing at me like water on stone.”
    “Devilish slow, water on stone,” he said, good humor undented.
    More like sun on ice, which was often not slow at all.
    “You must stop this. You must treat me like a sister, because anything else and even French peasants will recognize the truth.”
    He sobered at that. “Alas, you’re right. Brother and sister it is, then—at least for this night.”
    Thank heavens. On those terms, she might survive. The carriage made a sharp left turn into the walled farmyard and then the gates were closed with a thump. The noise made her jump with fear. Nonsense. The wall and gates were for safety, and with her tucked in here, Varzi could pass by and never guess she might be near.
    Two women ran past her window, splashing through mud, eager to be back in the house. A house of women. Nothing to fear. And it was kind of them to come out in the wet to let them in. They ran in past a sturdy, middle-aged woman who was standing in the open farmhouse door, pointing and yelling instructions. The coach moved slowly forward, and then sudden quiet told Petra they’d reached shelter.
    “Thank you, God,” she said.
    “Amen, though after so long, quiet feels almost eerie. Here, take Coquette and don’t let her follow me. The last thing we need is her covered in mud.”
    He passed over the dog, opened his door, and climbed down. After inspecting their shelter, he turned to offer a hand. “It’s merely an overhang, but the ground’s dry.”
    Dog tucked in her arm, Petra left the coach.
    The farmhouse door was shut again, so this was their haven for the night. As he’d said, the “barn” was merely a rough roof supported by three wooden poles in front and two sides of the wall in the back. Rain poured off the edge of the roof into a pungent, muddy lake between them and the farmhouse.
    “Not the accommodation I hoped to offer you tonight,” he said.
    “Then probably safer for me.”
    The dog was wriggling so she passed her over, but he put her down. “She’s fastidious, so I doubt she’ll go out into that sort of mud.” Coquette shook herself and began to roam.
    Petra shook, too, but because of damp night air. “I need my cloak. And so do you.”
    “You’re worried about my health,” he declared.
    “How delightful.”
    She smiled sweetly. “Simply playing the part of loving sister.”
    “Loving! We make progress, indeed we do.”
    “Only toward survival,” she said, marching to the coach to find her luggage. He reached past her to open the boot for her, brushing against her arm. Petra ignored the play and unlocked her trunk to take out her gray woolen cloak. She allowed him a clear look at the innocent contents before closing it again.
    He didn’t seem disturbed, and took the cloak to put it around her shoulders. That was nothing to make her shiver, but it had been so long since any man had performed such a simple courtesy.
    Ludo.
    A winter garden, glittering with frost.
    A fur-lined, velvet cloak.
    A searing kiss…
    “What is it?” he asked.
    “Just cold,” she said, stepping away, fastening the clasp at her throat. That memory had been an excellent reminder of what happened when a woman allowed a man to play such games. “Can we make a fire, do you think? There’s a woodpile over there.”
    “We’d better ask. We don’t want to be accused of theft.”
    He took out a dark, heavy cloak and swung it on, instantly becoming more ominous, especially when he raised the hood. She recognized a riding cloak of supple leather, which would shrug off rain, but the forbidding effect persisted even when he smiled at her and