A Season to Be Sinful by Jo Goodman Read Free Book Online Page A

sounding as if spoken in a foreign tongue.
    Unable to imagine the thing that Mrs. Ponsonby could not manage, Sherry turned and walked slowly to the open door. His presence and a single raised eyebrow had the desired effect: immediate quiet. The problem was that it did not last nearly long enough. In the space of a single heartbeat, three of the scruffiest street urchins he had ever beheld pushed past Mrs. Ponsonby and charged at him. He neatly stepped aside so when they skidded to a halt they were trapped in the library.
    Ill send for the authorities, Mrs. Ponsonby said.
    A few moments, Sherry told her. Ill tell you when. He was already backing into the library when Mrs. Ponsonbys lower jaw sagged. He firmly shut the door on her gaping countenance and turned toward his uninvited guests. As he suspected, they all began speaking at once, and he didnt understand a word of it.
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    Chapter Two

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    Sherry learned quickly that a raised brow was ineffective with these young squatters. Theyd already seen the limits of its use in the hallway and were apparently willing to take their chances that the other eyebrow was similarly without consequence.
    Bloody hell, he said under his breath. His language did not give them pause. If they heard him at all, which was doubtful given the volume of their own declaratives, it was a certainty they had heard far worse.
    They were a motley trio. Poverty clung to them so aggressively they were barely distinguishable as three separate souls. Each of them was painfully thin. Sherry suspected that under the uniformly dirty rags they were wearing, they were all sharp angles, with knees and elbows shaped like the hard, knobby head of a walking stick.
    He could not make a proper guess as to their ages, only that little in the way of months or years separated them. One of them always had his mouth opened, and Sherry had not yet glimpsed a full complement of teeth. Except for his own experience as a child, he knew nothing about them. When did they lose their teeth? he wondered. Were these young ruffians missing theirs as the natural course of maturing or was poor diet the culprit? Given their tendency to caterwaul at length, it occurred to him that a less patient man might have simply knocked them out.
    At his back, Sherry turned the key in the door and locked it. He pocketed the key but doubted it was safe there. Any one of them looked capable of getting it out again, probably without his noticing. It was a lowering thought that he could be so easy a mark. He pushed away from the door and crossed the room to his desk. He would not have counted himself as surprised had they followed, but when he turned they were still planted in the center of the room regarding him cautiously. For the moment at least, they fell quiet.
    Sherry showed them the quill he had selected from the pen stand. For most of its length, the striations on the feather were brown and black. Only the tip was white. He ran his index finger along it, bending it slightly to demonstrate its resiliency. He also showed them by pressing the nib against the tip of the same finger that it was not overly sharp.
    Taking advantage of their silence, he said, When the feather is in my possession, I may speak. When the feather is in your possession, you may speak. I am not using the words you and your in the collective sense, but in the singular; therefore, having the feather in your possession is not an invitation for three or even two of you to speak at once.
    To a person they simply stared at him. Sherry sighed, then said, It would appear we are divided by a common language. He approached the trio and extended his hand with the feather in it. Which one of you will be first?
    He watched the boys exchange glances, nudge one another with those sharp elbows, then apparently arrive at a decision as the middle urchin stepped forward. That this was accomplished without a word passing between them impressed Sherry. What a fine example you fellows