Kindred Hearts by Rowan Speedwell Read Free Book Online Page B

out to him. “Mr. Northwood, thank you for stopping and for setting my mind at ease. I am quite looking forward to Monday morning. Ellen, dear, would you see Mr. Northwood out?”
     
    “Certainly,” Mrs. Bayes said, and opened the door wider for him. He went out and down the stairs beside her, still reeling from the strange conversation he’d just had.
     
    As he took his hat and coat from the butler, Mrs. Bayes said, “She’s not stupid, you know. Or slow. People think that about her, but it isn’t true. She’s actually very bright in her own way. So you needn’t worry about your heir being daft or anything. She’s just… different.”
     
    “So I see,” Tristan said dryly. “Well, thank you, Mrs. Bayes. Oh, and I would like to invite you to continue as my wife’s companion after our marriage. I… am often away, and it will be good for her to have your friendship.”
     
    “Yes, I understand.” The eyes that met his had none of Charlotte’s vagueness, and none of her naiveté. “Good day, Mr. Northwood.”
     
    “Good day, Mrs. Bayes.”
     

Chapter 4

     

     

     
    The stone of the balustrade under Tristan’s bare feet was cold, but at least not icy. His toes curled around the edge as he balanced, hands tucked under his arms to keep his fingers warm. Behind him, the light and warmth and laughter of the party spilled out onto the balcony, forming almost a solid presence at his back.
     
    “By Gad, it’s cold out here!” Gibson complained. “How can you stand it, Tris?”
     
    “It’s a bloody dare,” someone else said. “Someone dared him, so he’s got to stand it, don’t you, Northwood?”
     
    “No one,” Tristan said, “shall call me a coward without proof—and shall get none from me.”
     
    “Nobody called you a coward, old boy,” Gibson said.
     
    “They said I wouldn’t do it,” Tristan said. “I must prove them wrong.” He hiccoughed gently, careful not to lose his balance.
     
    “You’re completely mad,” Gibson said.
     
    “No, he’s completely naked,” Berkeley said. “Needs his hat. Everyone needs a hat. Where is it?”
     
    Someone passed Tristan his hat. Balancing carefully, he set the hat on his head and looked out at the still-dark sky. The sky in the east was definitely lightening— turning into a fine spring day , he thought absently. A perfect day for a wedding . Right now, though, it was a little cold, and he was naked, and he really wished the sun would hurry up and rise so he could do the crowing-like-a-rooster bit and get down and get a tot of something warm and alcoholic in him. He was sobering up too quickly, although the very fact that he was on a balcony four stories above a cobblestoned London street and the wind was picking up and his balance was not of the best because of all the very warm and alcoholic beverages he’d been drinking all night—well, all of that was rather exciting. Despite the shock of cold that had shriveled it moments ago, his cock started to wake and he laughed wildly. On the edge of forever , he thought through the laughter; one step and he’d be suet on the cobblestones below, freed of obligations, freed of expectations, freed of the necessity of marriage, freed of his father, freed of decisions …. He laughed again, and the sun edged up over the buildings on the horizon, and his laugh turned into a triumphant ark-aroooo! as he flapped his elbows, arched his back and crowed.
     
    And overbalanced forward, hanging for a split second over the cobblestones far below, and a warm wash of peace, of acceptance, flowed through him—until hands on his elbows yanked him backward, and he did indeed fall, but into a half-dozen pairs of arms that bore him back into the brightly lit salon. Someone threw a coat over him, and his bearers dropped him on a sofa, and a girl he’d met earlier but didn’t remember the name of knelt at his side and gave him a smacking kiss. “Lor’ luv ye, ducks! I can’t say if ye’re brave or