My Lord Murderer by Elizabeth Mansfield Read Free Book Online Page B

nothing to you then?”
    “Less than nothing.”
    Drew, nonplussed, tried to plunge ahead, although the difficulty of his task was beginning to be apparent. “Nevertheless, I’ve offered myself to you. Even a murderer, I trust, may make amends. And may be turned into a worthy man by the love of a good woman.”
    “Perhaps. But the tendency toward violence in a man is completely repugnant to me. As repugnant as your suggestion that there could ever be anything between us.” And she stood up to indicate that his few minutes had come to an end.
    Drew rose, circled the table, and confronted her squarely. With the disarming smile that Gwen was beginning to find rather disconcerting, he lifted her chin. “I hope you change your mind, my girl,” he said softly. “There’s an attraction between us that should not be dismissed so summarily. It’s not often that two people are suited in as many ways as we are.”
    “Suited?” she asked scornfully, making no effort to pull her chin from his hand. “In what ways?”
    “I think you know as well as I. For one thing, our minds seem attuned—each one follows the other’s thinking so easily. For another, we laugh at the same things. For a third—” He paused.
    She couldn’t help asking, “A third?”
    “Yes,” he said. “For a third, this!” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, holding her close against him until they both were breathless. When at last he let her go, he turned quickly away, picked up his hat and cane, and went to the door. Just before opening it, he turned back, his eyes again appreciative, his smile warm. “I’ll see you again, Gwen Rowle. I don’t give up so easily. But you may relax at breakfast in future. I’ll find some other, less violent way to secure your company.” And he bowed, put on his hat, and was gone—leaving Gwen staring at the door, her breast heaving with several confusing emotions she did not dare identify.

Chapter Four
    G WEN OPENED HER EYES to the sound of the wind blowing the autumn leaves against her windowpane. She knew it must be early; there was no sound of household activity, and her abigail had not yet scratched at her door. Not quite awake, but not wishing to go to sleep again, she sat up, plumped up her pillows, and settled herself against them. For a while her mind drifted aimlessly in that state between sleep and waking where the dream can’t be remembered but the feelings of the dream persist. What had she dreamed that had left her in this wistful mood?
    Her eyes absently noted the streak of sunlight on the ceiling, sunlight which had stolen in through the gap of her window curtains. In that narrow streak of light the shadow of the leaves outside her window danced enticingly. It will be a beautiful day, she thought idly, the kind of day that pulls one out of doors: a day to stroll through the woods, to smell the tang of the air, to feel the wind tingle the hairs at the back of the neck. If only one had someone with whom to share the day…
    Inevitably, as it had every morning for the past three weeks, her mind turned to Drew. He would have made an exciting companion on a ramble through the woods, if only … if only … She shook herself in annoyance. How irritating it was to find him in her thoughts so constantly. He had shot her husband in a duel, he had embarrassed her in public, and he had invaded her home and her privacy. He was a violent, overbearing, unfeeling creature, and she debased herself by thinking of him. Yet at unexpected and frequently-recurring moments, she would find herself remembering his eyes with their glint of amusement; or her face would redden at the recollection of the strength of his arms around her and the pressure of his lips against hers; sometimes the sound of his voice came back to her: “I’ll see you again, Gwen Rowle. I don’t give up so easily.”
    Three weeks ago he had said those words, and she had not heard from him since. She was relieved, of course. Of course.