Amanda Scott by Lord Greyfalcon’s Reward Read Free Book Online Page A

without assistance.”
    “Well, I did contrive the whole,” she protested. When he looked ready to take up his reading of her character where he had left off, she added hastily, “I’m not lying, I swear it. Not that no one knows, precisely, but only one other person does, and she does not count, for she would never breathe a word of it to anyone.”
    “Your maid?”
    “No, of course not. I don’t even have a maid. What servants we have are mostly for Papa’s comfort, not mine. Have you been away from Oxfordshire so long as that, my lord?”
    “Sylvia.” He said no more than that, but the warning was clear.
    She sighed. “I came to London with Mrs. Weatherly, the Mayfields’ housekeeper, who has come up to visit her brother.”
    “Mayfield? Ah, yes, the vicar with the rather pretty daughter. Good family, that. The chit came out last year, I believe. Their housekeeper, you say? Did you expect to return with her?”
    She paid no heed to his use of the past tense. “No, of course not, for she has a fortnight’s holiday, and Papa expects me to return long before that. And before you leap into the boughs again, Greyfalcon, let me tell you that Joan would never let me return to Oxfordshire without a maidservant, nor would Harry.”
    “Joan? Lady Joan Whitely?”
    “Yes, of course, although she is Lady Joan Gregg now, for she married Reston but kept her own title. Only think of dearest Joan a countess. She has been married for nearly three years now, and I still find it difficult. Surely you knew.”
    “I daresay I did, but Reston does not number among my closer friends, so I had forgotten.”
    Sylvia chuckled. “I daresay he doesn’t,” she replied, mimicking his tone as well as his phrasing. “Harry is younger than you but a good deal more skilled at dealing with responsibility than you are. And he hasn’t got any actresses dangling after him.”
    A moment later she could have bitten her tongue out, so much did she wish the words unsaid. The look on his face made her fear for a moment that he intended to carry out his earlier threat. Indeed, he took two steps toward her, making her glad that the library table stood between them. Had it not—had she been close enough for him to grab her before he thought better of it, she thought he might very well have given his temper full rein.
    As it was, Greyfalcon contained his temper with difficulty. When he spoke, his words were carefully measured. “You will write at once to Lady Joan, informing her that your mission has been successful and that we will depart for Oxfordshire at once. You will request that she entrust your things to the messenger who will deliver your letter.”
    “I shall do no such thing,” Sylvia said fiercely.
    “Oh, but you will,” he retorted. “If you do not, I shall go alone to Oxfordshire, where my first deed will be to inform your father about your visit to Brooks’s. I am not generally one to carry tales, but I am persuaded that Lord Arthur never intended for you to deliver his letters personally, certainly not to a gentleman’s club. Indeed, under any circumstance, I am certain that he expected you to employ a courier, if he even knows that you came to London at all.”
    “Of course he knows,” Sylvia said indignantly. But she knew Greyfalcon had won the hand. She had no wish for him to discuss the matter with her father—not ever, if she could prevent it. Capitulation was definitely in order. “I’ll do as you ask,” she said quietly. “How soon must we leave?”
    “You may tell Lady Joan that we mean to leave the city at once,” he said.
    “Very well.” She watched while he strode to the large, leather-topped desk that occupied nearly the entire space under the tall, street-facing windows, opened a drawer, and extracted a sheet of gray letter paper. There was an inkstand upon the table. The quill, when she attempted to use it, appeared to be split, and she handed it to him wordlessly to mend for her. It was the work