Ryan's Bride by Maggie James Read Free Book Online

you, Angele. And please, call me Ryan.”
    “Anything you wish.”
    “I am going to take you home, and I am going to marry you. But are you sure there’s no one you need to contact to let them know you’re leaving France? Family? Friends?”
    “No one.”
    “All right, then. I’ll make the arrangements. First, we’ll see to your wardrobe. I saw a dressmaker’s sign in a window across the street. I have some business I need to tend to, but I’ll give you some money and come back for you later. You can choose anything you like.”
    “Aren’t you afraid I’ll take your money and run away?”
    He had thought about the possibility but knew he could not watch her every minute. Besides, he might not know anything about her past but could tell she wasn’t stupid. He was giving her the opportunity of a lifetime, and she knew it. “I can’t stop you if that’s what you want to do, so I’m not going to worry about it. I hope you won’t, though. I think we can have a good life together.”
    A waiter brought the soup. Seeing how she ate so ravenously, he asked how long since she’d had anything.
    She swallowed a mouthful of buttered bread and sipped her wine before admitting, “I’m not sure. And what I did have wasn’t fit for pigs. I can’t even remember how long I was there. I tried to keep up with the days, but I’m afraid I lost track.”
    “A week and a day. Yesterday I managed to find the lady you robbed. She was coming out of the abbey after mass and was able to give me the name of the officer who arrested you,” he explained. “Otherwise, I’d never have been able to find you.”
    “I thank God that you did.”
    “So do I.”
    She had just bitten down on another piece of bread but paused. “You know, I’m still shocked by all of this. It’s happening so quickly and doesn’t seem real. I mean, a man of your wealth and position shouldn’t have any trouble finding a wife.”
    He unbuttoned the front of his carrick and shook it from his shoulders.
    Angele’s gaze dropped to his chest. His ruffled shirt had come open, and she could see a mat of dark-blond hair. She glanced away, hoping he didn’t notice how her breath had caught in her throat.
    He leaned back to hook one arm over the side of his chair. “There aren’t that many Frenchwomen where I live, and I rarely travel. I prefer to stay home and work with my horses.” He remembered what she’d said earlier and asked, “By the way, how is it you know so much about Anglo-Arabs? And I believe you said I should look for them in Blois.”
    “That’s right. Francois DeNeux is one of France’s best horse breeders.”
    He persisted, “And how do you know that?”
    “I told you. I hear things.”
    “Do you ride?”
    “Me? Why, no.” She laughed loudly, remembering it was to her advantage to seem unrefined. Otherwise, he would never stop asking questions, and it might come out who she was. After all, she and her mother had been further humiliated when word had spread to Paris from England about the downfall of Cecil Mooring. And if Ryan found out, he might want nothing to do with her. Then what was to become of her? She’d been given a miracle and was not about to lose it.
    “Tell me something about yourself. Where were you born? How did your father earn his living?”
    Just then she smelled fish cooking and blurted, “He was a fisherman, and I was born in a little fishing village near Brittany, to the south of France.” She had never been there but knew her geography.
    “And that was where you heard about Francois DeNeux? In Brittany? That’s a long way from Blois.”
    “As I keep telling you—people talk. I listen.”
    “And you also heard them talking about Anglo-Arabs? What did they say?”
    “Only that they are nice horses,” she lied again. Actually, she probably knew as much about the breed as he did, but it would seem far too bizarre that a fisherman’s daughter would be knowledgeable about such expensive horses. Only the