Captive by Joan Johnston Read Free Book Online Page A

what is Olivia doing in here?” she asked.
    “Olivia is my sister.”
    “So?”
    “You are my ward.”
    “So?”
    Olivia laughed. “Oh, Lion, you won’t win an argument with Charlotte. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
    Denbigh glared at his sister. “Unless you wouldlike to see your brother naked, I suggest you leave the room, Olivia. And take this young lady with you.”
    “Come along, Charlotte. There’s nothing for us to do here,” Olivia said, putting an arm around Charlotte’s shoulder.
    “I could help,” Charlotte offered.
    “Get her out, Olivia, before I strangle her.”
    “Lion never was a very good patient, Charlotte. And Mr. Rowland will take very good care of him.”
    Denbigh watched as Charlotte allowed herself to be led from the room. She looked over her shoulder at him one last time before she left. He felt a pang of some emotion, one he refused to identify, when he recognized the look in her eyes. The chit had glanced back at him with … concern.
    He reminded himself of what Olivia had said. The girl had a big heart and offered it to everyone. There was nothing personal in the look she had given him. He meant nothing to her. Which was fine with him. He wanted nothing to do with her, either. Except, of course, to prepare her to become some other man’s wife.

3
    Charlotte knocked on the earl’s bedroom door and said, “It’s Charlotte. May I come in?”
    She heard the earl and his valet speaking in quiet, indistinguishable tones, then the earl’s voice saying, “Can this wait?”
    “I don’t think so,” Charlotte said.
    His sigh was so loud and plaintive she heard it even through the door. A rustling sound followed, as though sheets were being rearranged. The door opened, and she found herself facing the earl’s valet, Theobald.
    “You may come in now, Lady Charlotte.”
    Charlotte crossed directly to the bed and stood before her guardian. “I hope your leg is feeling better,” she said.
    His wounded thigh was hidden beneath thesheet, and she thought perhaps that was what all the rustling had been about. He was still wearing a dressing gown, which she supposed meant it still hurt too much for him to pull on trousers over the bandages.
    “It will heal,” the earl said. “Eventually,” he added.
    “His lordship has been in a great deal of pain,” Theobald announced.
    Denbigh shot him a reproving glance, but his valet didn’t seem the least bit cowed by it.
    “I’m very sorry,” Charlotte said. “That’s why I’ve come, you see. To make amends.”
    “And wearing a dress,” the earl said. “That is an improvement I can applaud.”
    Charlotte looked down at the willow-green sprigged muslin she had donned for her visit to the earl. The dress made her look even less than her seventeen years, if that was possible. But she was hoping to melt the earl’s cold heart, and she had decided it could not hurt to look young and vulnerable. So far it appeared her plan was working.
    “These are for you to do with as you please,” she said, holding out her arms, which were stacked eight inches high with folded clothing.
    “What, exactly, do you have there?” the earl asked.
    “Every pair of breeches I own,” she said.
Except the pair hidden under my mattress
.
    “Ah,” the earl said. “You may give them to Theobald, Lady Charlotte.”
    Theobald’s eyebrows had risen to his hairline, but like the true man’s man he was—that is, no task was too revolting, and all were handled with utmost care—he accepted the pile of grass-stained, oft-mended breeches from her hands. “What shall I do with them, my lord?” Theobald asked.
    “Burn them.”
    Charlotte saw the earl watching for her reaction, and she barely managed to avoid wincing. All those wonderful breeches going up in smoke. Such a waste!
    “It shall be as you wish, my lord,” Theobald said.
    “Do it now, Theobald,” Denbigh said.
    “Very well, my lord,” he said. “Excuse me, Lady Charlotte. Do you need anything