Devil's Mistress by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page B

dropped her head hopelessly against the pillow, staring sightlessly up at the rafters.
    “Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asked softly. “You could have saved yourself the apparent misery of my person.”
    She swallowed and touched her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “I … I didn’t dare tell you. You might have …”
    “Turned you in? Please, madam! What do I look like? A fanatic like Matthews?”
    Brianna bit her lip, trying to weigh her desolate reply. “You’re a lord,” she told him tonelessly. “You might be a loyal supporter of King James.”
    He chuckled softly. “I’m a Welsh lord, my sweet. One who does not feel he owes loyalty to James. And anyone who thinks the devil dwells within innocent women, be he Welsh, English, Scot, or Frank, is either sadly misguided or a raving lunatic.” He paused reflectively for a moment. “Matthews, I believe, is definitely the latter.”
    “Welsh,” she murmured.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Welsh,” she repeated tonelessly. “I had no idea who or what you were. I didn’t know whether I could possibly trust you. I don’t even know your given name,” she added bitterly.
    The wicked smile came into play. “Sloan,” he told her. “Captain Sloan Michael Treveryan, mistress, Fourteenth Duke of Loghaire. It is a Welsh title, not always recognized by the English. We have been “united” for over a century, but the English still have a penchant for acquiring Welsh lands. Nevertheless, my father was a close friend of the late and well-lamented King Charles, and therefore the Treveryans’ fortune has done well of late.”
    Brianna was amazed to hear herself laugh, but she sobered as he did. He grinned wryly in return, and yet she sensed a tension in him, a bitterness, when he spoke of the English crown. It was apparent that he had loved Charles II, and equally apparent that he did not bear that same love for James. It appeared that he despised James—deeply, personally.
    “The question,” he said softly, “is, who are you? Certainly not the girl Brice promised to send.”
    “Brice?” Brianna murmured with confusion.
    “Never mind,” he said with a shake of his head. “Who are you? Why is Matthews after you?”
    Brianna blinked furiously as tears came to her eyes, her voice breaking as she spoke. “The ‘witch’ Matthews executed this afternoon was my aunt. She didn’t even get a trial. I tried to get her a barrister, but no one would even speak with me! I didn’t dare go near her because my neighbor warned me Matthews would take me if I interfered.”
    Brianna lowered her head, feeling her tears fall upon the linen she clasped against her chest. “Pegeen was never a witch; she was wonderful, and admired, and loved.”
    Sloan reached out a finger to smooth the tears from her cheek. “Probably too well loved,” he answered quietly. “Love can breed envy, and the envious make the most vicious enemies.”
    The gentle quality in his voice brought her eyes back to his. She was suddenly acutely aware of the strength of character in his face. The long, hawklike nose, the high-arched jet brows, the full, demanding mouth, were ruggedly arresting. Confidence and command were indelibly stamped into them. And, a touch of arrogance.
    She furiously wiped her tears away. She withdrew as far as possible from him on the bed as she thought of all that had passed between them. He was a man she might have been able to admire and respect. A man from whom she would have liked to receive admiration—and respect.
    But his respect was lost to her now—as shattered as the innocence she would never know again.
    Perhaps he read the thoughts in her mind. Or perhaps his own thoughts had simply fallen upon the situation. He crossed his arms over his chest and said softly, “Don’t worry, Mistress Brianna. I will take care of you.”
    A tide of shame and humiliation washed through her. Brianna was grateful for life—but she felt as if her pride lay at her