Pale Moon Rider by Marsha Canham Read Free Book Online

somewhat bewildered as well?”
    Renée felt the blood pounding in her temples. Somewhere—it sounded as if it came from the end of a very long tunnel—she heard a door slam and a volley of raucous laughter and stamping boots. A moment later, the privacy of the common room was shattered as four young gentlemen, drunk as owls, staggered through the doorway, their shoulders bumping off the walls and each other as they struggled to hold one another up.
    Startled, Renée jumped to her feet. The toe of her shoe caught the edge of the small table beside the settle and overturned it, sending her goblet into the stone hearth with a loud metallic clan-n-ng. Behind her, high beaver hats were being flung aside and clouds of dust slapped from the sleeves of elegantly tailored jackets, and in the midst of boisterous shouting for fresh bottles of wine, one of the gentlemen heard the crash and spun unsteadily around to stare at the cloaked and hooded figure silhouetted in front of the fire.
    At almost the same instant, Mrs. Ogilvie came hurrying out of the back room, demanding an explanation for all the noise.
    “ ’Twas an unblessedly long ride from Meriden an’ my companions an’ I a r e parched with thirst!” said one of the newcomers.
    “P-positively p-parched!” Another agreed through a rapid spitfire of hiccups. He grinned and tried to lean on the first man for support, missed, and crashed into a third, who happily spun him around and pointed to the silent figure standing behind the settle. Drawing himself upright, the hiccupping man fumbled to straighten his cravat. “D-damm my eyes if they l-lie, gents, but I believe we have a l-lady in our midst.”
    “Did I not tell you she would be here?” exclaimed a blond, round-faced member of the group. “Lizbeth, my peach! My swan! My light o’ love! Come let me introduce you to my very good fren’s!”
    Bertrand Roth, concealed until then by the solid wooden back of the settle, shot to his feet beside Renée and made his presence known with a scowl. “I am afraid you gentlemen are mistaken in your expectations. The lovely Lizbeth is not in attendance this evening.”
    The blond stopped cold in his tracks. He stood swaying on the balls of his feet a moment, peering from one shadowy face to the other, then retreated the two steps he had taken. “Beg pardon, m’lady. Beg pardon, sir. An honest mistake.”
    Two of his three companions welcomed him back into their midst with a snort and a round of tippled laughter, while the third simply stood and hiccupped and stared raptly at Renée as she started to adjust her hood forward again over her face.
    On further thought, she pushed the satin dome back off her head, baring her face and the surrounding cloud of golden curls to the light. A second man joined the first in staring, and to insure she drew the attention of the remaining pair, Renée unfastened the lace frog at her throat and ran her hands across the nape of her neck to lift the long, gleaming mass of curls free from the collar of the cloak. Like liquid sunlight it spilled around her shoulders, the waves and spirals catching the firelight behind her and glowing like a halo around her head.
    The dazzling display drew Roth’s sharp glance and his hand grasped her upper arm. “What the devil do you think you are doing?”
    She looked first at his hand, then at his face.
    “Do you not find it warm standing by the fire, m’sieur? Since you have invited me to stay for supper, I thought I would make myself more comfortable.”
    Roth’s gaze flicked down. The act of disentangling her hair, combined with the weight of the heavy cloak had caused the latter to slip back off her shoulders and fall to the floor. The plain white muslin gown she wore beneath was sashed high beneath the breasts and cut low across the bodice, and because there were no formfitting corsets or multiple layers of petticoats between her body and the sheer layers of her chemise and gown, the four pairs of