Linda Needham by My Wicked Earl Read Free Book Online Page B

And just so that you realize the extent of the jeopardy of your situation, you’re being held here as a hostile witness who is withholding vital evidence in a serious investigation of sedition and high treason.”
    High treason too? A shiver tumbled down her spine. “I don’t know what more I can tell you.”
    Except to claim the right of a criminal not to be forced to bear witness against herself.
    The man lifted a small blanket off the end of the bed and thrust it at her. “I think you’d best wear this, madam. It’s cold. And you’re much too—”
    “Too what?”
    His eyes glittered as he stood there, frowning darkly as he studied her face. “Compromising,” he said finally, the word tangled in a growl.
    Not at all certain what he meant by that, Hollie took the cover and wrapped her shoulders, wondering why her heart was beating in wobbling circles.
    Everingham strode away from her, clasping his hands behind him, the legalist once again. “So, madam, you say you’ve been married to this Adam MacGillnock for two months?”
    She was pretty sure she’d told him two months. Because that was just after Peterloo, when everything in her life had gone so impossibly wrong. But Everingham had been firing his damnable questions at her so precisely, she’d had trouble keeping track of her answers at the time.
    “As I told you, Adam and I—” Great heavens, was that the name she’d given him? Yes, Adam. “We were married almost exactly two months ago.”
    His gaze darkened considerably. “How long did you know MacGillnock before that?”
    “A week.” Let him think her recklessly, passionately, in love with her radical husband. That she’d do anything for him, an innocent, dutifully gullible bride. She turned a treacly sweet smile on him and wondered why he was asking.
    “A week?” He raked his hand through his hair, then blew out a breath as though he’d been holding it for days. “Tell me, madam: before this marriage to MacGillnock, did the printing shop belong to you?”
    “Why?”
    “Is that when Mr. MacGillnock began printing his sedition on your press?”
    The man was at his parliamentary best: the grand inquisitor. “What do you mean?”
    “Where did you meet him?”
    Dear God, where? Her answers would have to hold up to all of his questions. “In…my shop.”
    “And did he only begin courting you after he’d seen your printing press?”
    Why, the arrogant bastard! “How dare you! If you mean to imply that my dear Adam married me solely for my printing press, then you’re greatly mistaken. We love each other. Madly. Joyously. We always will.”
    “How wonderful for you both,” he drawled, his dark smile anything but congratulations to the happy couple. “Where did he come from, madam?”
    Oh, hell.
    “From your village? Weldon Chase, is it?”
    “No. He’s from…” A place far, far away; the farther the better. “He’s…Scottish, of course. MacGillnock.”
    “He’s what?”
    “From an old clan of wool weavers. A burr you can cut with a knife. But your spies must already have told you that.”
    “Madam, I’m—” Everingham suddenly went utterly still. His brows knit as he fixed his focus on something behind her. “What are you doing here?”
    Hollie turned around to see what had so thoroughly caught his attention, and her heart melted on the spot.
    A little boy stood in the center of the room, his face ghostly pale in the dimness, his eyes huge, his dark hair sleep-mussed, the hem of his nightshirt dragging on the carpet. He peered at Hollie, then at Everingham, and back to Hollie again with a worried little smile.
    “Are you my mama?” It was the dearest, sweetest voice she’d ever heard.
    “Me?” She was afraid to blink, certain the child was nothing more than a spirit, while the earl stood glaring at the apparition.
    “Are you, ma’am?”
    Hollie didn’t know what to say to this gallant little boy who didn’t know who his own mother was. She cast a glance at