A Man Of Many Talents by Deborah Simmons Read Free Book Online

toward the dining room. Although she barely glanced at Christian, her tone held some sort of subtle accusation, as if the ghost’s absence were somehow his fault.
    “I believe you wanted me to get rid of him, not draw him out,” Christian noted. “Perhaps I’ve succeeded already.” He smiled at her and was pleased when she answered with a frown. Getting any reaction at all from the Governess was an accomplishment, though he could think of some other re sponses he would prefer. Yet somehow he couldn’t quite imagine Miss Parkinson in the throes of passion.
    He tried to. He really did. He pictured her letting that hair down. What would it look like? Feel like? And as for the voluptuous form hidde n beneath her shapeless gown… Christian attempted to conjure a vision, but all he could see was dull black crepe, while his pulse thundered as if he had just gone a couple of rounds with Gentleman Jackson.
    Cousin Mercia, oblivious to the undercurrents, said as she took her seat, “Perhaps Sir Boundefort doesn’t feel that Lord Moreland is a threat to him.”
    Or perhaps he does, Christian thought, tearing his attention away from Miss Parkinson’s bodice. And that is exactly why he is hiding.
    “After all, Lord Moreland is not interested in buying the manor,” Mercia said, causing him nearly to swallow his tongue instead of the watery soup that was served. He couldn’t think of anything less inviting than the purchase of this hideously mundane structure, dim, dark, and depressing as it was. Except for the Governess, of course.
    “And being a man of means himself, he would hardly be interested in the treasure,” Mercia added.
    “ Treasure?” Christian said, turning with mild curiosity toward his hostess. It was as good an excuse as any to eye her.
    “Apparently it’s an old family tale, though I’ve never heard of it,” Miss Parkinson answered, with the vaguely disapproving skepticism that Christian was beginning to think came naturally to her. So why did he feel like making her believe, if not in old family tales, then in other, more tangible delights?
    “According to Cousin Mercia, there is quite a legend associated with our resident haunting,” she said.
    “Legend? Why, of course there’s a legend! Can’t have a good haunting without a story behind it, now, can we?” the colonel said.
    “I hardly think Lord Moreland would be interested in old rumor and gossip,” Emery commented, looking up from his plate to glare at them all.
    “Nonsense! Ripping good story, if nothing else,” the colonel said.
    “Hardly! A bit of meaningless mumbo jumbo,” Emery argued. He immediately applied himself to pushing his food around again, as if to dismiss the subject entirely.
    “Oh, I don’t think so. I like to believe there might be a clue to the treasure hidden in the words,” Mercia said, her eyes bright with the enthusiasm she normally reserved for the ghost.
    Christian was beginning to think the woman kind and harmless, but hopelessly dotty. He turned to his hostess once more and waited for clarification.
    “There is an old rumor that our ancestor returned from foreign climes with a fortune, which has lain in wait for the right descendant to discover it,” Miss Parkinson explained.
    From the line of her mouth, Christian could tell that she didn’t lend credence to the story, though she refrained from spoiling Mercia’s fun by denying the possibility outright. Obviously she wasn’t all bad, for she behaved well enough toward the cousins. So why was she singling him out for the misbehaving-pupil treatment?
    “And we’ve even got a clue!” the colonel boomed, startling Christian from his musings on his hostess. “How does it go, Mercia? Tell his lordship about the poem that’s supposed to lead to the prize.”
    “I cannot believe you’re perpetrating this nonsense,” Emery said with a tone of derision that bordered on desperation.
    “I thought you were interested in the legend, Emery,” Miss