My Fallen Angel by Pamela Britton Read Free Book Online Page A

the tree.” She looked down, only to force herself to look up again.
“As
I was saying.‘Tis obvious we need to go to London to explore this lead.”
    “We?” her aunt spat out.
    “Yes,” she said firmly, looking at Garrick.
“We.
Although his lordship might beg to differ.”

5

    His lordship
had
begged to differ, although the next morning Lucy had cause to regret being so firm in her insistence on going to London. If anything, Garrick looked even more furious than when he’d left the night before. The chill in his gaze blew through her heart like a winter wind. She looked away, wondering what it was about the man that made her heart pound like a woodpecker gone mad.
    “Good morning,” she said softly. The fact that they were alone made her unaccountably nervous. Ridiculous, she told herself, trying not to fidget in her chair. She’d climbed trellises with jars of hatefid spiders in her hands. Jumped off roofs with injured kittens in her arms. She’d even shot a person once. Of course, that had been an accident. The point was, Garrick made her feel the veritable ninny. As if she’d lost her wits. Like those silly women at balls who swooned when a handsome man strolled by.
    She fixed her eyes on the tiny violets imprinted on her dress, determined not to let him see how her breath quickened when he stopped before her.
    “Where’s your aunt?”
    Look up, Lucy, you can do it.
And she tried, she truly did. Her gaze got caught on skintight breeches that revealed thighs of Davidlike perfection. Next they paused on the bulge in his breeches. A very large bulge, she amended, blushing. His hips were the next detour. Masculine hips. Everything about him was big, even the fists clenched at his sides.
    She peeked up farther. His white shirt had parted to reveal a sun-bronzed chest. She swallowed. Good heavens, would she ever get used to looking at the man? And his shoulders, they were so wide. His neck so thick. His chin had a teeny-tiny cleft in it. His lips were so achingly sensual, she licked her own in appreciation. She steeled herself, looking into his eyes.
    And blanched.
    He was livid.
    “Are you done?” he snapped.
    Well, no, not really.
She’d have liked to stare at his lips a bit longer. And that earring of his still fascinated her.“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
    “I asked you a question,” he clipped out.“Where is your aunt?”
    It took a moment to gather her thoughts, mostly because she’d suddenly caught a whiff of him. Salt and man, that’s what he smelled of, as if he had brought a bit of the sea into the room with him.
    “She’s above stairs, dressing,” she finally croaked, her voice as raspy as Lady Hortense just before she’d keeled over and died.
    “And the boy?”
    “Above stairs, too, I should think.”
    “Fine. I’ll wait outside.”
    “No, wait,” she called, impulsively reaching for his hand.“How…how does it feel today?”
    She smiled up at him, a great giant of a smile that was meant to ask him if he felt as giddy and as wonderful and as strange when he saw her as she did when she saw him. He didn’t look away, and for second, just the tiniest bit of a moment, something burned in his eyes.
    “How does
what
feel?”
    She blinked, telling herself she hadn’t imagined it.“Your hand.”
    “’Tis fine,” he gritted, trying to jerk away.
    She wouldn’t let him, just held onto it like a lifeline to a ship.“Wait,” she said softly, slowly standing up. She’d misjudged the distance between them, though, for he was far closer than she realized. Their bodies brushed. She saw his eyes widen.
Yes,
she thought.
There it is again.
    “I haven’t thanked you for yesterday.”
    “No need.”
    Almost, she closed her eyes. His voice washed over her like warm water, pooling in her very soul.
    “Yes,” she contradicted.“There is a need. If not for you, I might be dead.”
    He didn’t say a word, just stared down at her, his eyes so different when viewed up close. Color upon