Ruth Langan by Blackthorne Read Free Book Online Page A

little boy’s hand found its way into Olivia’s. And though she gave him a bright smile, her heart was thundering.
    The room suited the man. It was a formal dining hall, hung with tapestries and furnished in a lavish manner. On either end of the hall was an enormous fireplace with logs ablaze. A long wooden table, capable of seating a score of people, dominated the center of the room. A dozen lavish pewter candleholders bathed the room in light.
    “Lord Stamford.” Pembroke’s cultured voice broke the silence.
    Quenton Stamford stood in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames. At the sound of Pembroke’s voice, he turned. The hound at his feet stood and issued a warning growl.
    This time Olivia could see the man much more clearly than on her earlier meetings in a dimly lit hall. A dark angeL The thought jolted. He was very tall, with wide shoulders and narrow waist. The elegantly tailored jacket couldn’t hide the ripple of muscle along his arms and shoulders. Dark hair curled over the collar of his shirt, framing a clean-shaven face that might have been handsome had it not seemed so stern. His jaw was square, with a hint of a cleft in the chin. In his hand was a silver goblet. Both his hands and face, she noted, were bronzed by the sun. From his years aboard ship, no doubt.
    As always, his eyes, so dark and piercing, held her when she would have looked away.
    “Miss St. John and the lad are here.”
    He swung his gaze to the older man. “Thank you, Pembroke. You may tell Mistress Thornton to hold off serving until my brother joins us.”
    “Aye, my lord.” Pembroke stepped discreetly from the room and closed the doors.
    “Will you have some ale, Miss St. John? Or some wine?”
    “No, thank you.” She wasn’t aware that she was squeezing Liat’s hand until he glanced up at her. At once she relaxed her grip. Then, annoyed that their host hadn’t even acknowledged the child, she said boldly, “Perhaps Liat would like something.”
    He arched a brow. “Would you, boy? What do you drink?”
    “M-milk, sir.”
    “Ah yes. Of course. I shall tell Mistress Thornton.”
    The door opened and the housekeeper bustled in, looking more frazzled than usual. Her dustcap was askew, ready to plop in her eye any moment. Her stained apron hung at an awkward angle, attesting to the fact that she’d been forced to deal with more than her usual duties.
    Behind her walked one of the groundsmen, a village youth with a strong back and bulging muscles. In his arms he carried the lord’s frail brother.
    “Ye’ll set Master Bennett here by the fire,” the housekeeper ordered.
    When that was accomplished, she began directing two serving wenches in her usual shrill manner.
    “Not there, you mewing miscreant. Lord Stamford sits at this end of the table.”
    Olivia winced, then glanced at her host. He showed absolutely no emotion as his housekeeper continued to browbeat the servants.
    “The china here. The crystal there. Not that one. His lordship prefers ale with his meal. Give me that, you pribbling flax-wench.” She sent the two servants back to the kitchen while she finished preparing the table herself. When it was finished she was sweating profusely and dabbing at her forehead with the hem of her apron.
    “Ye’ll let me know when ye wish to eat, m’lord?”
    “Aye, Mistress Thornton. And would you tell Cook that the lad prefers milk?”
    “Milk?” She glanced at the boy, then muttered under her breath, “The lad desires milk.” In a louder tone she called, “I’ll send a servant to the cowshed at once.”
    “Thank you, Mistress Thornton.”
    She bowed her way out.
    With the housekeeper gone, an awkward silence settled over the room and its occupants.
    “Miss St. John, Liat, I understand you have already met my brother, Bennett.”
    Olivia smiled. “Yes. We had hoped to share a meal together tonight in Bennett’s room. But this is much nicer, don’t you think, Bennett?”
    He stared at her in stunned