Breathless by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online Page A

him?”
    â€œThe servants can dispose of him. Unless you’d liketo hit him again. I doubt he’d even notice a sharp kick in the kidneys if you were so inclined.”
    Had he read her thoughts? “I think he’s suffering quite sufficiently,” she finally pronounced, ignoring the temptation.
    â€œI would offer you my arm but I’m afraid my gait is quite clumsy and it would be uncomfortable for you,” he murmured. “There’s a servant at the end of the terrace with a candelabrum in his hand. He’ll see you to my study while I make arrangements to rid us of this piece of detritus.”
    She’d already spent half the night hesitating. She could do the safe, boring thing, go back to listen to Signor Tebaldi and take a hackney home.
    But she’d never been fond of tenors.
    Â 
    Lucien de Malheur leaned over the agonized body, and the tip of his cane caressed the man’s pale, sweating face. “Well done, Gregory. You acquitted yourself admirably. It’s too bad that’s she’s so effective at defending her honor, but in truth I expect I might have hurt you more. And I think it’s better that I don’t come off as a gallant rescuer. Not yet.”
    Gregory didn’t say anything. He couldn’t—he was still making high-pitched noises through his nose. “Don’t worry, I’ll take excellent care of her,” Lucien continued. “I know you have enough sense not to speak of this night’s work, lest you end up unable to speak ever again.” His voice was soft, like that of a lover.
    â€œGirl…deserves to be schooled…” Gregory gasped out. “Beaten.”
    â€œShe’ll be schooled, Gregory. Broken to my bridle most effectively, I promise you, though I find there aremuch more effective ways than brute force. Now go home and avail yourself of some ice if you can procure it. All your parts should be working well enough in a week or so.”
    As he followed his guest across the broad terrace he heard the belated, muffled shriek of his Judas goat, and he smiled.

4
    T he door led to a study, bathed in warm candlelight, mercifully quiet after Signor Tebaldi’s famous fortissimo, and Miranda stepped inside, breathing a sigh of relief. There was a table set for two, a blazing fire taking the chill out of the air, and some of her apprehension began to fade.
    She’d felt the eyes on her as she’d headed out onto the terrace. She would have hoped that a similar outcast like the earl would have fewer gossip-minded guests, but even among the demi-ton curiosity seemed to run rampant.
    She should never have come. And she would tell her host that she should leave—he could send her home in his carriage, or at the very least have one of his servants call her a hackney.
    She heard him approach—the steady strike of his cane, the faint drag of his leg. She supposed she should feel a sense of dread; the stories about this man were legend. But she didn’t. The brief glimpse of him on the shadowed terrace had been enough of a forewarning.She would sit across from him over a candlelit dinner and view his ruined beauty without blinking.
    Because beneath the scoring across his face he was indeed beautiful, and she wondered what or who could have caused such cruel damage.
    He moved into the room, a peculiar grace to his broken gait. But then, he struck her as a man who was never less than graceful. He sank down into the chair opposite and she met his gaze calmly.
    â€œMost women keep their eyes in the general area of my shoulder, Lady Miranda. Do you have a particular fascination for horrors?”
    She couldn’t help it, she laughed, and he looked genuinely startled. “Hardly a horror, my lord. You had me expecting something out of a Gothic romance.”
    â€œI’ve disappointed you?” His voice was silky, his sangfroid back in place. “You continue to surprise me. Would there be a