Julianne MacLean by My Own Private Hero Read Free Book Online Page B

else, even if that someone was Damien, his cousin and best friend? How could Harold sleep at night, not knowing if his beautiful fiancée was dead or alive? He, at the very least, could have accompanied Damien.
    But Damien supposed that Harold had always preferred to keep his head in the sand, and likely always would. Damien and the rest of the family even helped Harold bury his head on occasion. They had often dealt with certain household problems themselves, keeping Harold in the dark, knowing he would have preferred it that way.
    Damien felt guilty all of a sudden for thinking badly of Harold, his friend, who was a kindhearted and principled person. Like Adele. Perhaps they were a good match. Damien swept the critical opinion away.
    When it didn’t appear that Miss Wilson was going to stir anytime soon, Damien combed his fingers through his hair and rubbed his face. He went outside and fetched a fresh bucket of water for Adele from the well, then brought it back and set it down gently in front of the chair. He stared at her for another few seconds, admiring the slender curve of her hips and the feminine shape of her hands. He imagined her as a girl, staring longingly at that candy stick, and felt an odd mixture of amusement and pity. He wondered how many cherry sticks she had resisted in her life, how many she had never tasted. Then he thought of Harold again. Harold would probably be very pleased that she had not taken the candy stick.
    Damien, on the other hand, wished he could get her one. He wouldn’t steal it, of course. He would pay for it. He would just like to see her face when she tasted it. He’d like to watch her eyes. And her tongue and lips.
    He shook his head at himself, and headed for the door, keeping his footsteps light. It was probably a good thing they were leaving here today and heading back to civilization. Because Damien was beginning to find Miss Wilson far more appealing than he should.

Chapter 3
    S hortly before noon, Adele went outside to meet Lord Alcester, who was riding into the yard on his big, black horse. He swung down from the high saddle and landed gracefully on the ground. A coach was behind him, rumbling slowly up the hill.
    His hair was like a wild mane around his face, his coat blowing in the wind. It was difficult to imagine that this man was related by blood to her fiancé. They were so remarkably different in every way. Harold had red hair, and though he was tall, he was very slender, with small hands. Damien’s hands were huge. They were a horseman’s hands.
    “You shouldn’t be out here,” he said. “You’ll catch your death.”
    “I’ve been stuck in there for three days. I couldn’t stand it anymore.”
    He glanced down at her feet, which were bare. “Isn’t it a little chilly to be a wood nymph this morning?”
    She met his smiling gaze and recognized the power of his charm. It was no wonder he had so many eager lady friends. “You know I have no shoes.”
    “Yes, I know. There are stockings and shoes for you in the coach, which isn’t far behind.”
    She turned and saw it slowly rolling its way up the hill. Lord Alcester was very good at taking care of things, she realized. It was easy to rely on him. “Thank you.”
    She limped beside him while he led his horse to the trough.
    “I know this is unpleasant business, Miss Wilson, but someone will be along to collect the body after we’re gone, and we’ll have to speak to the magistrate in the village tonight. He’s already given me his word he’ll keep it quiet, and I trust him. Will you be able to discuss it?”
    “Of course.”
    “How is your wound, by the way?” he asked.
    Immediately, a vision of his hands on her leg jolted her. She forcefully pushed the recollection away. “It feels a bit better this morning. It’s not so difficult to walk.”
    His eyes were downcast as he watched his horse drink from the nearly overflowing trough. The wind blew a part in his thick, black hair and revealed dark