Lord Deverill's Heir by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page B

to hell.” A cynical note entered his level voice. “You disappoint me, ma’am. Your language was much more colorful this morning. Though you may heartily dislike me, though I may sicken you, though you wish me to go to hell, I speak the truth. If you do not wed me, you will leave Evesham Abbey in two months’ time. If you believe I will allow you to remain as a poor relation, you are mistaken. I will personally boot you out. After all, you have not given me a single reason to let you remain on my property.
    And it is my property, ma’am. As of this morning, as of the reading of your father’s will. I am master here and you are nothing at all.” Arabella suddenly felt quite sick. Her stomach was tied into knots, and bile rose in her throat. Her well-ordered, quite satisfactory world as the favored daughter of the Earl of Strafford had crumbled, like the old abbey ruins. He was right about one thing—she had nothing left, nothing at all. He was the master and she was nothing. She fell to her knees in the soft grass lining the drive and retched. Since she had eaten very little during the day, the spasms were dry heaves, making her quake and shudder.
    The earl drew up in astonishment, looked within himself, and saw a good deal lacking. He cursed himself in far more descriptive language than had ever made its way into Arabella’s vocabulary. He had mistakenly read her disdainful bravado as vain, prideful arrogance. Her father’s death, his own unexpected entry into her life, the terms of the earl’s will—all had been a great shock to her. He had blundered, he had ridden her too hard.
    God, but she was young and wretchedly confused. She had to feel betrayed by the one person on earth she loved and trusted the most—her father.
    He steadied her, closing his long fingers protectively about her heaving shoulders. He gently pulled black masses of hair that hung loosely about her face. She seemed unaware of him. When she stopped retching, he drew a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and handed it silently to her. She clutched it in her hand, and without looking up, wiped her mouth.
    “Arabella—”
    “Ma’am.”
    He had to smile. “Ma’am, then. Can you rise if I assist you? It is nearly dark now and your mother will be quite worried. I promised her that I would bring you back to her unscathed. You are only a bit scathed.” How calmly he speaks, as if we had stopped to admire the daffodils.
    Unscathed? She felt scathed from the inside out. Come on, Arabella, stand up. See how dark it becomes; he cannot see the shame etched in your eyes.
    He can see nothing that is really you, nothing.
    She drew a deep breath and with an effort of will locked her knees to support her weight.
    The earl slipped his hands beneath her elbows and held her upright, her back to him.
    She tried to pull free of him but he had a good grip. “I don’t need you.” The naked pain in her voice sliced through the still evening air. Her hands clenched into fists, and in a swift, totally unexpected movement, she whirled about in his arms and smashed at his chest with all the mindless fury of a trapped animal.
    He dropped his arms and sucked in his breath, more from sheer surprise than from any pain she caused him. “That was a good blow. Thank God you didn’t go lower.”
    She ran from him, thick masses of hair streaming out about her shoulders and down her back.

    Sharp gravel bits dug into the thin soles of her kid slippers, sending stabs of pain up her legs. Blind, unreasoning panic blurred her vision, yet she ran on as if death itself pursued her. A gently rising slope rose before her, but her mind did not tell her legs to adjust for the abrupt unevenness. She went hurtling forward, clutching frantically at the empty air to balance herself. Instinct brought her arms in front of her face to cushion the impact as she sprawled facedown onto the drive. Gravel cut into her arms, tearing her gown, digging into her flesh. She cried out just