Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet by Patricia Veryan Read Free Book Online

that she did not think they had met and was astonished when the French girl suddenly wrapped her in a hug.
    "Is of
the peu d'importance
! I have know in this one minute
you shall be a special friend! Some of the times I have this
feeling—here." Her hand fluttered to her shapely bosom, a movement
followed with interest by the eyes of the three gentlemen. "Come." She
drew Sophia toward the fire. "Here we sit and have the happy cose."
    "Which I shall join." Feather marched to seat herself to Sophia's
left on the comfortable leather sofa. "Knew your Papa. Fine seat. And a
grand fighting man. Served with my husband in Holland." Her hard eyes
softened briefly; then, with a little shrug, she went on in her bluff
manner. "Sorry to hear about your brother. But you can at least be
proud of your men."
    Instinctively, Sophia glanced at Damon. A cynical smile twisted his
mouth, but he said nothing. "It seems, my lord," she smiled, "that if
my house is blessed with courage, yours is blessed by its charming
ladies."
    Genevieve hugged her, and Feather gave a barking laugh. Damon
watched her with a thoughtful expression, and she realized he had read
an innuendo into the words that she had honestly not intended but that
was, she felt, well justified.
    He turned to Miss Hilby and said a meaningful "It is indeed."
    "Oh," said Sophia artlessly. "Are you also of the House of Branden, ma'am?"
    Miss Hilby, her fond gaze steady on the Marquis, said, "Not yet, my lady."

Chapter 4
    Lady Branden, Mademoiselle de la Montaigne, and Miss Hilby had
retired to their rooms to refresh themselves after their journey. The
Earl and Clay were engrossed in a military discussion regarding the
shrewd tactics employed by the French at Quatre Bras, and Sophia looked
at Damon with an ingenuously hopeful smile. The westering sun chose
that moment to flood the room with belated brilliance, and, having
stared rather blankly at her, bathed in that warm glow, he mumbled an
offer to show her around the Priory, adding deprecatingly, "Though it
is a dusty old place, and I doubt you'd be in the least interested,
ma'am." She dashed his hopes by saying she would find it delightful,
and, Clay raising no objection to the idea, Damon sighed and bowed her
wearily into the hall.
    Despite his apparent ennui, he was nothing if not thorough. He
conducted her through a succession of chill and gloomy rooms, some
holding furniture protected by Holland covers so dusty they looked as
if the doors had not been opened for several years. He gratified her
expressed curiosity politely, drawing many objets d'art to her
attention and discoursing with surprising knowledge on the various
pieces. He then related the gruesome history of the house, which had
originally been a famous keep, the catacombs all that now remained of
the ancient structure. Knowing her host was thoroughly bored, with
outward gravity and inward glee, Sophia asked countless questions and
generally conducted herself very much in the fashion of a bright
student on tour with her tutor. But, gradually, as they went, her coy
duplicity began to be replaced by a real interest, and, sensing this,
his condescension became less pronounced and his comments more informal.
    Last to be viewed was the portrait gallery on the third floor. It
was dusty and festooned with cobwebs. Yet, in the beautifully arched
sweep of the roof, the low, recessed windows, the graceful pillars and
random-planked floors, there remained an echo of a simple elegance that
drew from her a little cry of mingled regret and admiration. She swung
around to find him watching her intently. "Oh! But how lovely
it…could…" She faltered into silence. The Marquis said nothing, but in
his steady gaze she thought to detect a shadow of sadness, and she
stood motionless, her head uptilted. Perhaps it was the crimson glow of
sunset or the peaceful quiet. Perhaps the very age of the house created
a mellowing aura. Whatever the cause, they were both swept into a
strangely isolated