Lady Lissa's Liaison by Lindsay Randall Read Free Book Online Page B

in passing on those very traits to his daughter."
    "You flatter me, sir. I only know an inkling of what my father strived to relate to me. I believe it will take an entire lifetime to glean half as much knowledge as my father possessed."
    She turned back to her work, Lord Wylde watching her. "What are you doing now?" he asked as she carefully picked through the assortment of hairs and feathers.
    "I shall use these long hairs of sable for a wisp of a tail. And for the wings of this particular fly I shall choose what was once the white-gray feather of a mallard. No doubt Markham dyed these feathers in the root of a barberry tree and woody viss," she explained, "with alum and rain water. The color now is a very fine yellow, perfect for a green-drake. My father used to do the same. I would help him on occasion."
    "I should like to meet this father of yours," he said.
    Lissa stilled. "I am afraid that would be an impossibility. He—he is dead, my lord."
    "Forgive me, I did not mean—"
    "My father died a little over a year ago—at the very cusp of springtime, when winter was melting away and the earth beginning to blossom. I rather like to believe it was his choice to die at such a time."
    Lissa fought back the tears that threatened her. Even with the passage of a year, she had not yet learned how to stop the tears. Perhaps she never would.
    She concentrated doubly hard on tying the fly, recalling every minute detail her father had taught her. When she was done, she secured the handmade fly with a strong thread and a tiny, expert knot.
    "There," she said, " 'tis finished. A perfect green-drake."
    "Beautiful."
    Something in the tone of Wylde's voice made Lissa look up from her handiwork. She realized that he was looking not at the fly, but directly at her.
    "My lord?" she ventured, her body tingling oddly beneath his close scrutiny.
    "Perfectly perfect," he murmured, as though thinking aloud and not really intending for her to hear the words.
    He reached up, transfixed, his right hand brushing lightly against a soft spit of curl that folded against Lissa's cheek. His black eyes devoured every feature of her face, the long column of her slender neck.
    "Almost too perfect, in fact," he said, his voice deep and dark and sending the ripple of a chill down Lissa's spine.
    She shifted nervously upon the bench. "My lord?" she said again, feeling innately that he was experiencing some sort of internal epiphany.
    "Tell me," he demanded bluntly, "were you lying in wait for me alongside the river's edge, Lady Lissa of Clivedon Manor? More to the point, are you here now, in my lodge, for some purpose other than retrieving a presumably precious locket—a locket, alas, that you cannot even fully describe?"

 
     
     
    Chapter 4

     
    For the first time that day Lissa saw very clearly why the sixth Earl of Wylde had earned the title of Heartless. It seemed he had no care for subtlety, did not give a whit about verbally challenging anyone, and—most unsettling of all—he had a way of looking through another person, as though into their very soul.
    "Are you doubting my sincerity, sir?" Lissa asked.
    "I am questioning your purpose. Here. With me. "
    "As we both know, I—I merely accompanied you to teach the rudiments of tying a handmade fly."
    "And before that, at the water's edge?"
    Lissa eyed him warily, wondering where the stream of his questions was winding. "I often spend the early morning hours sketching alongside the river, Lord Wylde. I have already told you that."
    "Then, why have I never seen you before today?"
    "Perhaps we... we simply managed to miss each other on our individual morning outings."
    "But not this morning," he pointed out.
    "Really, sir, your questions seem more like an inquisition. Can we not just agree that we had a chance meeting and now have made a pact to help each other?"
    He eyed her closely. "Doubtless that would please you."
    "Well, I—I see no reason to worry the issue. We simply met in the midst of