Midsummer Moon by Laura Kinsale Read Free Book Online

believe it. Never in his lifetime, not raging or drunk or sober, had he discarded all control and let his passions have free rein. To act without thought was the greatest sin he could imagine. Ransom had been trained to discipline from his first rational moment, had been drilled in the consequences of power, in his duty to wield it with precision and care.
    He was human; he had his desires and his weaknesses, but to act on them to the ruination of someone else, to the injury of an innocent girl who had every right to expect all the strength of his protection...
    "Oh, God,” he said, his voice a rasp of stupefied rage. He turned his face downward into the pillow. “Oh, God,” he moaned, and curled his hands over his face. “Oh, God...” he hissed into his palms. “ There was something in the salt. "

Chapter 3
    "Never thought to see the day,” Thaddeus grumbled, thumping a plate of burned bacon and tomato down in front of Ransom. “Never thought to see a bastard eatin’ at me own table."
    Ransom swallowed the urge to take out a few more of Thaddeus's already scarce teeth. “Mind your own affairs,” he said stiffly. “I'll make it right."
    "'Tis me affair, ye bleedin’ sod.” A cup of cloudy, lukewarm tea hit the table with a clatter. “I took care of her, I did; it's what me an’ Theo's done for years, all right and tight, and then you come along in your gentleman clothes and smooth talk and what's she know about it? Ain't never seen a blighter the likes o’ you, she ain't. Don't know a randy sonofabitch from a mare's hind end—"
    " Enough. ” Ransom's command would have frozen King George in his royal tracks. “I said I'd take care of it."
    Cold toast rattled ominously in its rack as Thaddeus dropped it in the general vicinity of Ransom's plate. “Spilt milk,” the old man said darkly. “I'd like to know how you'll be cleaning it up."
    "I'll marry her."
    Thaddeus stopped on his way to the pantry door. “Will ye now?"
    Ransom made no answer. He bit into his charred breakfast and glared.
    "When?” Thaddeus persisted.
    "When I obtain a license."
    "Bishop Ragley's to home, over at Barnstaple. Half an hour an’ ye can be there."
    To his utter disgust, Ransom felt himself flushing. Ragley, for God's sake. One of his grandfather's oldest cronies. Ransom could imagine it, confessing the sordid story to the stiff-necked cleric, asking—begging—for a special license. His gorge rose just contemplating the humiliation.
    "I'll ride into London and bring the license back,” he said, and then felt double disgust at the notion of explaining his intentions to a meddling servant.
    Thaddeus turned and shuffled back. “That won't do, sir. Won't do at all."
    "Get on with you,” Ransom snapped. “Cursed impudence."
    "Cursed blackguard,” Thaddeus muttered.
    Ransom thrust his chair back and roared, “I'll marry her, damn your eyes! What more do you want?"
    "Today."
    Ransom stared at the old man, his jaw quivering with suppressed rage. Thaddeus stood his ground, holding out a jam-pot as if it were a knight's shining sword. In a concerted effort to gain control of his temper, Ransom narrowed his eyes and looked down. He selected the least-crumbled piece of toast and put it on his plate. After a moment Thaddeus moved forward and spooned a blob of marmalade onto the bread.
    "She's sleepin’ like a lamb up there,” the old man said. “Like an innocent babe."
    "I'll speak to her when she wakes."
    Thaddeus plopped another spoonful of jam onto the toast. “Never knowed a mother, not as she could remember. Ain't had no proper life at all."
    "I can see that,” Ransom said sourly.
    "Sure ye can.” A third scoop of marmalade hit the mound with a liquid plunk. “Fine gentleman like yourself, knows just how to take advantage of a trustin’ lady."
    Ransom clamped down on a retort. Another spoonful of preserves quivered where Thaddeus dropped it and then slithered over onto the blackened bacon.
    "Her poor mother, that