Rexanne Becnel by The Matchmaker-1 Read Free Book Online Page B

unhappy news that her journal was not to be found. But Olivia had to be sure. So she stood now just inside the library door, alert in case he should try once again to surprise her.
    But the library was empty. The heavy burgundy draperies were drawn against the morning sun, and the wing chair he’d sat in had been turned around to face the room. The liquor tray was back in order, the decanters lined up, and the tumblers washed and neatly arranged. The only disorder was that of any library: more books than it could comfortably hold. Shelves jammed full, tables stacked high, and several large atlases lying in the corner on the floor. But not one sign of a cream and gold journal of no value to anyone but its owner. Why had he taken it?
    Olivia scanned the room once more, her brow creased in aggravation. The housemaids had obviously been in. Perhaps one of them had already delivered it to the housekeeper. How embarrassing if the woman had read any of the entries.
    Better the housekeeper, however, than that other nasty brute.

    Completely out of sorts, she turned for the hall. The housekeeper was bound to look in on the breakfast table. Olivia would ask the woman then about her journal—and about the identity of her unpleasant companion of last night.
    She found her way down the east wing hall, through the Cummingses’ grand foyer, and into the central hall, which she thought led back to the small dining room where a breakfast was supposed to be laid out.
    This house was far too big ever to be comfortable, she decided as she headed down another endless hallway. Not at all like Byrde Manor with its large pair of drawing rooms and cozy surrounding rooms. She vaguely remembered the family taking breakfast in the kitchen there when she was a small child. Could that be right? Somehow she could not picture her mother consenting to dine in any kitchen, not even the huge one in Windsor Castle.
    But the faded image of the fragrant kitchen at Byrde Manor would not go away. Soon enough she would determine how accurate her memories were.
    She turned left into a small sitting room—not what she was looking for. Was everything going to go badly during this visit?
    The unhappy answer appeared to be yes. For when Olivia backed out of the room and turned around, it was to find him, her nighttime nemesis, in the hall just behind her.
    She sucked in a startled breath, then exhaled in a hiss. The shock of his presence was horrid enough. But he was staring at her now with the same insolent amusement as before. It was simply too much to be borne.
    “Who do you think you are?” she snapped, though her heart thudded with fear. She placed her hands on her hips. “I suggest you cease this hooliganism, or I will summon Mr. Cummings to deal with you.”
    “Mr. Cummings.” He grinned, then crossed his arms and leaned negligently against the wall. Somehow he seemed even bigger and more dangerous than he had last night. “So it is old Cummings you turn to for protection. I had wondered.”

    “Who else?” she retorted. “And who are you to speak of him in such tones?”
    “We are business acquaintances.”
    “You are a guest here?”
    He smirked at her. “Of course.”
    Olivia’s heart sank even as her anger increased. Did Mr. Cummings know what sort of ruffian he had loosed upon his household? “I assume then that you must be Mr. Hawke.”
    He straightened, smiling with satisfaction. “So he has mentioned me to you.”
    “He did. You are purported to be something of a horseman.” Olivia jutted out her chin with more belligerence than she felt, and studied him closely. At least the man appeared sober this morning, though that affected neither her anger nor her caution. He was again well dressed in buckskin breeches and a tawny colored frock coat, and their fine cut set off his tall, manly figure. Broad shoulders, trim hips. He was younger than she would initially have guessed.
    But his eyes were old, she realized, as if they’d seen more