How I Met My Countess by Elizabeth Boyle Read Free Book Online

you mind, my lord,” Mr. Ellyson said, “escorting my dear girl up to the village? I dislike having my daughters venture out unprotected.”
    Clifton took one furtive glance at the old spy’s daughter. The chit was good, for she appeared as innocent as her tones had implied, but there was a dangerous light to her eyes.
    A challenge that dared him to refuse.
    And what Miss Lucy, in all her pride and prejudice, did not realize was that he loved a good challenge.
    Almost as much as he loved winning.
    “Most certainly, sir,” Clifton replied. “I would be remiss in allowing a young lady to go about unescorted.”
    At least not until I discover what it is you two have in store for me .
    Lucy found herself at odds as she left her father’s house in the company of the Earl of Clifton.
    “Would you do me the honor, Miss Lucy,” he asked in a gallant manner, holding out his arm to her.
    “Lucy, my lord. Please call me Lucy,” she told him as he carefully settled her hand onto his sleeve and led her down the path as if she were a real lady and he was taking her for a fashionable stroll in a London park.
    “But Miss Lucy,” he averred, “I wouldn’t want to impugn your reputation by having anyone assume—”
    “Oh, good heavens, Lord Clifton!” she said, losing all patience with the man. “No one calls me ‘Miss Lucy.’ That is reserved for the vicar’s sister.”
    There was a pause before he asked, “And someone might confuse you with the vicar’s sister?”
    This wry comment took Lucy aback. She glanced up to see if the man was teasing or just being insulting, but neither was in evidence on his handsome features.
    “The weather is admirable,” he commented blithely, as he opened the gate for her and they made their way to the lane.
    “Yes, quite,” she replied, suspicious all the same.
    “Do you walk to the village often?”
    Lucy glanced over at him. Was the man a simpleton? “Yes, my lord. Every day.”
    “Extraordinary!” he replied. “Take care here, it appears the road is uneven.” He steered her through the alarming hazard of an overturned stone and a dirt clod.
    Good heavens , I’m not made of porcelain , she wanted to exclaim, trying unsuccessfully to free her hand, but he’d clamped his other one atop it and held her fast.
    Why, she made this outing nearly every day and most often alone, for there wasn’t a lad or troublemaker within a good five miles who would think to give Lucy Ellyson anything but a wide berth and a good measure of respect.
    And as she was used to her independence, she found it ever so disconcerting to be walking along in the earl’s shadow, her fingers trapped on his sleeve.
    Up this close he was taller than she’d realized— or rather wanted to think of him being—for he quite towered over her, and if it could be believed, he seemed, well, rather imposing.
    Well, not completely imposing , she thought, glancing up the road and wondering where Rusty and Sammy had hidden themselves, suddenly feeling a bit of ill ease.
    What if her father was right and the earl did make a good showing against them?
    She shook her head. Impossible. He was a spoiled, indulgent nobleman. That was all. Just another Lord Roche.
    Her fingers flexed on his sleeve, and beneath her gloves there was nothing but solid muscles.
    Something inside her fluttered at the sensation.
    Are you so sure he’s just a fool, Lucy?
    “Have you lived in Hampstead all your life?” the earl asked.
    “Excuse me?” Lucy replied, coming out of her reverie, her gaze absently fixed on his forearm.
    “Hampstead? Have you lived here all your life?” he repeated, smiling at her as if he was speaking to a child.
    “Most of it,” she said, a bit disconcerted by the dazzling smile on his handsome face. “I was born in Rome, though I have no memory of the place.”
    Egads, whatever had possessed her to reveal that?
    “Rome, you say? How unique,” he declared.
    Not so if your mother is Italian , she wanted to say