Dear Impostor by Nicole Byrd Read Free Book Online Page A

did have a greed for money. Well, it was
her own money she wished for, and that was better than most women, Gabriel
reflected. Mostly, they wanted whatever their current lover could scrape up;
he'd had his own pockets emptied more than once. This woman, despite her
beauty, despite the passion he suspected lay well hidden beneath the cool
surface charm, would be no different than the rest, and certainly, certainly
she was not wicked enough to deserve a glimpse inside the dark secrets of his
own heart. He tried to hold on to his usual cynicism as his gaze skimmed the
room.
              The rest of the family were
listening, more or less–a woman with bad teeth whose name he'd already
forgotten was still chattering away in the corner–to Matilda who made a brave
effort at the pianoforte. Her mother, who must be tone deaf, nodded in approval;
the rest of the family bore it stoically, as if well accustomed to Matilda's
musical talent, or lack of it.
              When the first tune ended, there
was a polite scattering of applause. Gabriel clapped, too, for Matilda's
courage, if nothing else. "Very nice, dear," one of the women said.
              Then Mavis commanded, "Now
the new ballad, my dear."
              "Oh, Mother, I don't wish to
sing," Matilda protested.
              "Nonsense, you have a lovely
voice," her doting and unperceptive mother said.
              Matilda placed new sheet music
upon the stand, and her fingers moved slowly over the keys. When the notes
rose, and she added her voice to the melody, Gabriel winced despite himself. Matilda's
singing was even less inspired than her playing; she had a thin voice likely
made more shrill by fear of her mother's disapproval.
              He saw Matilda glance beseechingly
up at Psyche, who had been standing beside the instrument turning the pages of
the music. At once, Psyche added her voice to the song, keeping her own singing
low, not attempting to drown out her cousin. But her pleasing alto added depth
to the sound and gave her cousin's thin voice a much needed embellishment. This
time, when the music died, the applause, which Gabriel joined heartily, was
louder.
              Matilda flushed with pleasure. As
the two singers began another tune, Gabriel's thoughts wandered. She had heart,
this ice maiden, despite her outer coolness. He was sure Psyche had other
passion as well, hidden deep within.
              But as alluring as she was, that
was not why he had played for time, deciding to draw out this dangerous role as
long as he could. He glanced outside into the dark garden, where shadows
cloaked the shrubbery. He could find no better hiding place than this, no more
secure sanctuary from which to assert his claim and acquire his newly-won estate.
This was better than cheap rooms or equally shoddy inns for escaping the
renewed detection of the band of ruffians hired to kill him. He had no false
hope that they will give up; every time he set foot on the street, he would be
a marked man.
              And the strange thing was, he
suddenly realized that he had enjoyed the evening. The warmth of the family
gathered here, the welcome he had been granted, it was the kind of homecoming
he would never receive from his own kin. And despite the fact that the shower of
invitations and cordial greetings had been given to the wrong man, to a fantasy
fiancé invented for one sole purpose, despite it all, it had fed some empty
spot in his heart. He allowed himself to remember the lonely boy who had ridden
away from his father's house, with no one of his own blood ready to take his
part. The pain was still there, though he had pushed it deep and had never
allowed himself the luxury of self-pity. The Sinclairs had rejected Gabriel,
and he had repaid the favor.
              But to stand in a room where,
eccentric or not, sharp-tongued or not, most of the people assembled showed
real affection for each other,