Moontide Embrace (Historical Romance) by Constance O'Banyon Read Free Book Online Page B

her mother's voice followed her. "You will come down to dinner tonight, but you will speak only when spoken to — is that clear? I will no longer tolerate your bad conduct. If your father does not punish you, I will deal with you myself."
    As Liberty made her way back to her own bedroom she felt a coldness around her heart. Could her mother not see the games Bandera always played? Today Liberty had turned fifteen, but no one seemed to remember or care. In the past she had always made excuses for her mother and Bandera, but the truth of the situation had finally hit her full-force. Neither of them cared about her. She was nothing but a troublesome child to them. It was a heart breaking lesson for Liberty. With bitter disappointment, she realized her only friends and allies were her father and Oralee. Of course, today she had found a new friend in Zippora.
    Dressed in a hand-me-down yellow empire-waist gown that Bandera had discarded, Liberty descended the stairs. While the bright yellow gown had been lovely on her sister, she knew its color made her look pale and washed out. Instead of wearing her hair in soft Grecian curls like Bandera, Liberty's hair was shoulder length and pulled back in a yellow ribbon.
    Her footsteps quickened as she neared the salon, for she dared not be late for dinner. She was already in enough trouble; she did not need to add more fuel to the flame. Liberty paused at the door, drawing in a deep breath and gathering her courage. On entering the room, she walked slowly toward her mother. Ursula Boudreaux offered her younger daughter her cheek and smiled stiffly. Liberty gave her a quick kiss, then moved past her sister, barely noticing her. Knowing it was expected of her, she made a quick curtsy in front of Sebastian Montesquieu.
    "Good evening, Monsieur. I trust your uncle is in good health."
    Sebastian smiled down at her. "The truth of the matter is he is not quite himself lately, Mademoiselle. He sends his regards and his regrets that he cannot be with us tonight. He always asks about you."
    Liberty felt her mother's eyes on her, warning her not to make a mistake. "I find your uncle a very enlightened conversationalist, Monsieur."
    Sebastian's eyes moved across Liberty's face, then low ered to her high-cut neckline. Something about him repulsed her. "You are one of the few people my uncle consents to talk to, Mademoiselle. For some reason he seems to find you fascinating."
    Liberty had never liked Sebastian. He was what she termed a dandy. Even so, his lineage was impeccable, for his father was of the old French aristocracy. Sebastian's short-clipped black hair was disheveled, a la Titus as was the fashion. He wore sage green, tight-fitted trousers, and his elaborately tied neck cloth was complimented by an upright collar. He was clean-shaven, but wore side-whis kers. For some reason his features did not seem to go together. His square-cut jaw seemed out of proportion with his aquiline nose. His blue eyes were dull, and he had the annoying habit of never looking into the eyes of the person he was addressing.
    Bandera's laughter rang out as she slipped her arm through Sebastian's. "La, but our little mouse has pretty manners tonight, does she not, Sebastian?"
    At last Liberty turned to her sister, knowing she could no longer ignore her. As usual, Bandera wore a lovely gown, smelled of some sweet, exotic scent, and looked beautiful. No one but Bandera could have worn the deep purple and carried it off so well. Beside her, Liberty indeed felt like a homely little mouse.
    A deep French voice spoke up from the other side of the room. "Ma petite, is not a mouse. She will show us all one day how the bud turns into the rose."
    Liberty's father had just entered the room, and her eyes lit up when she saw his encouraging smile. Evidently he had just returned from New Orleans, because he wasn't dressed for dinner, and he still wore mud-splattered riding boots. Louis Boudreaux was a handsome man of forty- five.