All Through the Night by Connie Brockway Read Free Book Online Page A

child. Her mother’s death had made her bitter, and this in turn had made her malicious.
    For a second the girl had the grace to look shamed but only for a second. She placed her hand on Anne’s forearm, her expression earnest but her eyes hard. “I’m sorry, Anne. I only meant to point out that you didn’t die, Matthew did. Life goes on. Just look what mourning has reduced you to. I am determined it will not happen to me. I will not run from life as you have chosen to do.”
    “I hadn’t realized I might claim responsibility for your inspiring embracement of life,” Anne replied dryly. “I must not forget to congratulate myself. When I catch my breath from running that is.”
    Sophia regarded her with faint appreciation. “I see you still have some wit to you.”
    “Sarcasm, do you mean?”
    “It often passes as the same,” Sophia said. “I intend to grasp as much out of life as I can and to steal what more I want.”
    Another thief in the family? Anne thought ruefully. Sophia knew so little and was convinced she knew so much. Unfortunately, time and experience had uncanny ways of snuffing out such brilliant self-confidence.
    “I wish you well,” Anne said.
    Sophia’s expression set stubbornly. “I’m not going to settle for lukewarm experiences and secondhand pleasures,” she proclaimed. “I want passion. Not tame—”
    “Tame what, Sophia?” North asked.
    Sophia’s head swiveled around, her expression woefully easy to read. Fear fought a losing battle with youthful defiance at her father’s quarrelsome tone.
    “That chestnut mare I bought at Tattersall’s last week not spirited enough for you?” he asked.
    “I ... I was just—”
    “No, Malcolm,” Anne interjected soothingly, accepting the cup of punch he’d fetched. “Sophia was just favorably comparing the chestnut with one she’d ridden out of Lord Frost’s stables last year.”
    North would beat Sophia purple if he suspected the unruly streak in her character, especially if it threatened his plans for her brilliant alliance. As much as Anne disliked the person Sophia had become, she would not willingly let her be abused by her father.
    Satisfied, North nodded and retreated behind Anne’s chair. On any occasion he’d little enough to say to either Sophia or herself. The only marvel tonight was he’d actually spent time in their company. The faro table must not have been set up yet.
    They sat in such an uncomfortable pose for some minutes until Sophia dropped her head behind her fan. “He’s coming over here!” she hissed urgently. “With Lord Strand!”
    With a dull feeling of unreality Anne fixed a neutral smile on her face and faced the approaching men.
    Lord Strand took the front position, his spectacular guinea-gold good looks marred by a heavy flavor of dissipation. Behind, with that military exactitude that made mock of all the dandies’ posturings, strode Colonel Seward.
    There was nothing dissipated about him but something both far more grave and far more subtle. He moved with the stiff grace of someone bearing a wound so old that he accommodated the pain without conscious effort. The shadows under his eyes and the pallor of his skin bespoke sleeplessness; the scar breaking his brow, the crippled hand and broken nose testified to innumerable confrontations—and the cost of as many victories.
    Strand stopped directly before Sophia and made his leg. Colonel Seward waited at his side. This close Anne could see the color of his eyes. They were the cool gray of ashes from a long-dead fire.
    Terrible things.
    “Mr. North, may I present Colonel Henry John Seward?” Giles drawled.
    “Seward, eh? Delighted, sir. Heard of you. Prinny speaks highly of you.”
    “Honored, sir.” His voice was the same as she remembered, smoke smooth, hot as embers.
    Anne glanced at Sophia. Excitement related itself in the tilt of her neatly coiffed head, the glitter in her eyes, the slight opening of her lips. Without doubt Anne must woo Sophia