Royally Ever After by Loretta Chase Read Free Book Online Page A

wasn’t merely her copper-bright hair, a mass of ill-behaved ringlets. It wasn’t simply her luminous skin with its light dusting of golden freckles or the intelligence sparkling in her green eyes. It was all those things, yes, and more: She always seemed lit from within.
    He’d almost stepped toward her, to take her hand . . . to touch her cheek . . . to touch . . .
    But she didn’t want him to touch her. The letter ought to have made that clear to him. She was not the sort of girl to write such a letter merely to torment a man. Barbara Findley was many things: stubborn, exasperating, opinionated—to name only a few of her many less-than-biddable characteristics. But she was not coy or manipulative. She wouldn’t have written the letter if she hadn’t meant it.
    Yet he’d refused to believe it. He’d told himself there had to be a mistake, a misunderstanding. He couldn’t have misjudged her feelings so completely.
    He’d thought . . .
    Well, he’d thought wrong, and that was that.
    He didn’t see her put out her hand for the letter.
    He carefully folded it up again and put it back in his breast pocket.
    When he looked at her again, she was looking toward the windows.
    â€œYou can’t go back out in this,” she said. “You’d better stay the night.”
    He looked that way, too, into the bleak afternoon.
    Bleak. The color of his future.
    Good God, now what would he do? His tenants. His servants. His indigent relatives, whose name was Legion.
    What a fool he’d been. All the time he’d devoted . . .
    And now . . .
    He laughed. “Stay the night? Here? To rub salt in your mother’s wounds?” Not to mention his own. “Are you a glutton for punishment? I’m not.”
    â€œThat isn’t—”
    â€œI’ll stay at the Swan.” He’d passed the coaching inn on the way. He should have stopped then. The pause would have given him time to think. And think again. But no. He had to be the fool rushing in. He had to be the madman believing he could make black come out white. “It’ll be easier to set out for London from there, and I can miss the crush when the world descends for the queen’s wedding.”
    The day after tomorrow, Queen Victoria would wed her beloved Prince Albert. The Lord Mayor had asked the populace to suspend their usual activities in honor of the occasion—not that anybody needed the suggestion. Most of London would be pouring into the areas near both St. James’s Palace and Buckingham Palace as well as the royal parks, in hopes of catching a glimpse of the bride and groom.
    Rothwick was among the privileged few with tickets to the ceremony, and he’d looked forward to hearing Barbara’s opinions of everything and everybody.
    Today was the day she was to have come to London. He’d intended to show her his townhouse and tell her she might do whatever she wanted to it. He’d thought they’d talk about paint and furniture.
    What a joke.
    â€œPlease convey my compliments to your parents,” he said so calmly. “And my regrets . . . that I’m unable to accept your invitation to stay. I’ll send a notice to the Gazette of our changed circumstances. Goodbye, Miss Findley.”
    He bowed. And then, before he could be tempted to say anything more—and really, what was there to say?—he left.
    Swan Inn, six o’clock
    B arbara didn’t give herself time to think. She flung open the door to the private parlor . Heart racing and head high, she walked in.
    Rothwick sprawled in a chair by the fire, long legs crossed at the ankles, one arm hanging over the back of the chair, the other holding a wine glass. His dark hair had dried in a tangle, and he hadn’t helped matters by raking his fingers through it. He’d taken off his coat and unbuttoned his waistcoat, but that was all.