Again, My Lord: A Twist Series Novel by Katharine Ashe Read Free Book Online Page B

with the receipt, I will go into that kitchen and find it myself this very minute.”
    Mrs. Whittle chortled. “Oh, I won’t be having that! Dear me, milord, you’ve gone and cheered my day right up. And what a day it’s been.”
    “But finally it looks as though the sun wants to shine. How was the state of the high street, Lady Holland?”
    “Six inches deep in mud, even on the verge.”
    “How uncomfortable. But the constable assures me that if the deluge does not renew itself unexpectedly, the ford will be crossable by morning. Mr. Whittle will return before you know it,” he said to Mrs. Whittle, “with the cow, one is assured.”
    “I do hope so, milord,” the innkeeper said.
    “If you will, Mrs. Whittle …” Lady Holland said, her hands clenched at her waist.
    “Oh, yes! Right away, mum.” Mrs. Whittle bobbed another curtsy and hurried off.
    “I am just now venturing out for the first time today to study the situation,” he said, trying very hard not to peer too closely at her. The sensation he was experiencing now was utterly disconcerting: as though he had been in a dark closet for months and was seeing the sunshine for the first time, or like a man with blocked-up lungs abruptly able to breathe again. Looking at her—at her pert nose, clear eyes, perfect teeth, and lips that were still damnably kissable—was a dramatic shock. He had forgotten how thoroughly her slightest smile had knocked him over.
    But she was not smiling now. He had not seen her smile yet, in fact.
    He wanted to
. Quite a lot.
    “Given the clouds and sun at once,” he heard himself saying, “I daresay there is a rainbow out there somewhere that needs admiring. I am all prepared to gape and coo. Would you care to join me?”
    “I’ve just said the street is six inches deep in mud. And a herd of sheep are wandering about with apparently no one to shepherd them.” The V deepened between her eyes that were now crackling clear blue sparks. “Therefore, no, my lord. I do not care to traipse about this little village searching for rainbows. Most especially not with you.”
    He sucked in air. “Well, that’s a clear enough rejection, I suppose. It seems that six years has done nothing to improve your manners.” He took his coat off the peg by the door. “Good day, madam.”
    He left, striking out in the direction of the ford where he could assess the depth of water and determine if it were deep enough cast himself in, like the blasted fool that he was. Six years, and she had apparently not changed.
    Most unfortunately, neither had he.
    ~o0o~
    Calista grabbed up the mud-caked hem of her borrowed gown and swallowed over the burning in her throat as she hurried to her bedchamber, tracks from her boots following her all the way up. The promise she had made to the dressmaker, that she would not stain or dirty the gown, had gone down the river the moment she’d stepped onto the street. But she had been too hungry to care about the consequences when she forged on to Harriet Tinkerson’s shop. There, the horrid woman shoved bonnet after bonnet in her face and then served her a single cup of tea and two biscuits.
    She had
tried
to appreciate the day’s unexpected reprieve from Richard, to allow herself a few hours free of the fear and worry that were her constant companions. Now she owed the dressmaker the price of a gown and petticoat, her stomach ached, and she was weak with dizziness and twisted with frustration.
    As soon as Mrs. Whittle brought dinner to her room, however, she would revive, with the added benefit that she would not be obliged to sit in the taproom with the Marquess of Dare for the duration of an entire meal. Of all the discomforts of this day,
that
she could not endure.
    Just as six years ago, when he looked at her with those beautifully intense eyes, she felt entirely lacking.
    From across the bedchamber, the Aphrodite statue stared at her as though it agreed with the marquess’s assessment of her.
    Then it