Cards & Caravans by Cindy Spencer Pape Read Free Book Online Page A

small purr of feminine pride. She did look younger than she was. Even the last few years of poverty since the crops had failed hadn’t aged her prematurely.
    “Not nearly.” She laughed. “I was eighteen.”
    “Well, that is practically an infant, isn’t it?” He didn’t even hesitate or pause to do the math. “How long since you’ve been widowed?”
    “Seven years.” Long, lonely ones. Micah had been her dearest friend. They’d met when he’d been in Carlisle, taking his crops to market. She’d always be glad he’d stopped by the circus on a whim. Their courtship had been brief but sweet, and after their wedding, they’d enjoyed a healthy degree of passion. Was it so wrong that she now felt a stirring for someone else?
    You’re still a young woman , my sweet . Don’t chastise yourself for normal human feelings .
    Of course. Micah had always been the practical one. “I’m sorry,” Connor repeated. “The squire said he fell?”
    “From the hayloft.” She sighed. “He’d gone up to rescue an injured bird, but it flew in his face and made him stumble. I was right there, but there was nothing I could do. His neck was broken in the fall.”
    “Tragic.” Even over the engine, she heard genuine sympathy in Connor’s deep voice.
    “Yes.” She choked back a sob. Typical Micah—he’d given his life for an animal that hadn’t even appreciated it.
    For a long while Connor shoveled coal in silence. Belinda basked in it, unused to constant conversation. Then she glanced ahead and saw the row of horses stretched across the road. Her throat went dry and she had to try twice to yell to Connor, “Bloody hell, he’s called out the army. They’ve cordoned off the road.”
    * * *
    Shite . Connor shoveled in one last load of coal then went to join Belinda in the driver’s box. He pointed to the controls. “Which levers do what?”
    She spit out the answers in a long, barely coherent jumble.
    “Good. Now go hide in the cabin, and don’t make any noise.” He eased in behind her and reached for the throttle, his hand briefly grazing hers as he took control. A tremor coursed through his skin at that minimal touch and he knew he had to see more of the unorthodox widow.
    “Be careful. We don’t know how much the squire has told them.” She lingered in the doorway.
    “I’ll be fine. Go.” He waved her toward the midsection of the caravan, a miniature sleeping compartment similar to a Pullman berth. He thought the whole thing was quite clever and looked forward to showing it to his grandfather and sister, who shared a love for all things mechanical. And Wink, of course. Odd how now she was an afterthought, not in the forefront of his mind. Maybe time did heal some wounds.
    As Connor slowed before the blockade, he cast a small spell on his person, hoping it was good enough.
    Two minutes later, the wagon drew even with the wooden barricades, and the officer in charge motioned for Connor to stop, flashing a pistol. After easing the huge vehicle to a precarious halt, Connor slid his own revolver from his belt and kept it in his left hand while he cranked down the window with his right.
    “Is there something wrong, Major?” Connor hoped the officer saw a younger man, slimmer and with light brown hair.
    “We’re searching for a fugitive.” A burly fellow with bristly muttonchops coated with ice leaned in the window. “And just what the bloody hell is a circus caravan doing all alone at this time of night?”
    “Not that I should have to explain myself, but it’s a birthday gift for my brother-in-law, Baron Findlay of Torkholm.” Connor arched a brow in an obnoxious parody of an aristocrat’s sneer. He could do snooty with the best of them when he wanted to. “Magnus has an odd fascination with steam machines.”
    “Torkholm? Isn’t that in the islands? You’re not going to be able to drive that there.” The sergeant had approached and stuck his head in as well.
    Connor shrugged. “He’s visiting