Lady Wild by Máire Claremont Read Free Book Online Page A

desire to cut to the quick and ask what the devil Vane was up to, he said, “In any case, I met the daughter wading in your river.”
    Vane snorted. “What in God’s name possessed you to wade—”
    “Not I,” Andrew corrected.
    “The daughter?” Vane was silent, then a dry laugh cracked from his throat.
    Andrew grinned. He couldn’t stop himself. Something about Lady Ophelia made one feel as if the world was full of promise again. She’d even made Vane laugh.
    “Yes,” Andrew acknowledged.
    Vane abandoned the fire, strode back to the sideboard, paused, then glanced back over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed. “How long is it going to take you to finish that drink?”
    “As long as it takes.” He still had a quarter of a glass.
    Vane gave a tight nod. “And what did you think of Lady Ophelia, then?”
    Andrew took a deep breath, thinking how intimate he’d been with her. Christ, he’d asked her if she’d wished him to ride her. He wanted it, that was for damn certain, and from the flare of interest he’d seen in her gaze, he was fair certain that she did, too. Only a lifetime of propriety had kept her in check. “Why do you ask?”
Shrugging, Vane kept his attention on the decanter. “Because at the mention of her name, your entire demeanor changes.”
    “Bollocks.” He refused to accept such a ridiculous idea.
    Vane poured himself more brandy, then turned, bracing himself against the sideboard with the drink cradled in his palm.
    Andrew held out his nearly empty glass, which Vane pointedly ignored.
    Keeping the glass outstretched, Andrew challenged, “You don’t actually think I’m leaving when my glass is empty.”
    “I do,” Vane said firmly.
    “But surely I should pay my respects to your sister.”
    Vane tensed. For one brief moment, he looked as if he might shatter. But then those dark eyes of his grew cold. “She’s not here.”
    Andrew frowned. This morning, as he’d started his walk, he’d seen a young woman walking the high battlements of the castle. “I could have sworn I saw—”
    “She’s not here.”
    Andrew balked at the abrupt harshness of Vane’s tone. “But—”
    “Go home, Stark. I’ll see you in London.” And with that, Vane tossed back the contents of his brandy and stalked from the room.
    “I haven’t finished my drink,” Andrew hollered in angry protest.
    The echoes of Vane’s booted footsteps were the marquis’ only reply.
    Staring at the doorway, he couldn’t stop the growing sense that his friend had indeed involved himself in something very dangerous. And somehow, it involved his sister.
    He could only pray that Vane would hold to his word, come to London, and divulge some of the mystery. Perhaps he could help. Perhaps he couldn’t. But at least then Vane would not face whatever was distressing him alone.
    Contemplating the trace of amber liquid in his snifter, he let out a sigh. It was a wasted trip.
    Ophelia’s fiery hair came to mind.
    No. Not wasted. Nothing that involved Lady Ophelia and her mother could ever be a waste. Of that, he was certain.
    Despite the aggravating meeting with Vane, a smile pulled at his lips. Soon, Ophelia would be in London. In his home. After he’d spent so much time uninspired by the events of life, it was a wonderfully intriguing thing to anticipate.

     
    One Week Later
    London
    Would she come? When his coach returned, would Ophelia and her mother be on it?
    Andrew closed his eyes and cursed. He shouldn’t wish her to come.
    What he should wish was that she found contentment in her small thatched hovel and that he should then be able to find an arrangement with his solicitor where he sent a few hundred pounds or so a year to keep Ophelia and her mother in comfort.
    Under such an arrangement, he’d never have to give Ophelia a thought. He’d never need to contemplate her fiery hair sliding through his fingers or her pale flesh and slim back as he slipped off her garments and corset.
    The steely gray sky hung over