St. Raven by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online Page A

desire. Not that the Duke of St. Raven would kiss her hand like that, but that some man would. Would kiss her hand with such elegant ease, gazing into her eyes in a way that spoke of deep devotion. She had suitors—being a nabob’s heiress—but none had shown her reverence like that.
    Presumably by now the duke had kissed Lady Anne as he’d kissed her last night, and more.
    Lucky lady…
    “Now, let’s get you into your clothing, miss, even if it is all a bit the worse for wear. I’m sure you’ll feel better then.”
    Cressida pulled out of the past. If any foolish notions stirred in her head about St. Raven, she must remember that he was the sort of man to attempt seduction of one lady while wooing another. So much for reverent hand-kisses.
    She focused and saw that her hair was smoothly arranged. She thanked the woman and rose to dress.
    Mrs. Barkway had a firm hand with the corset laces so that Cressida had to suck in an extra breath, but in a way it was comforting—a return of restraint and good order. Her evening dress looked out of place in the morning but it, too, brought respectability, even when crumpled. She picked up her pearl necklace and put it on again, then added her earrings.
    “Where are your shoes and stockings, miss?”
    Cressida turned from the mirror, knowing she was blushing. “I think they were lost in my adventure.”
    “Well, I never! And mine won’t fit. If you don’t mind, miss, I’ll go and see what I can find for you.”
    “I don’t mind at all. You’ve been very kind.”
    “Go on with you. Anyone would in the same situation.” She poured the dirty water into the slop bucket, hefted it, and left.
     
Chapter Four
     
    Cressida checked her appearance again, longing for a sensible day dress, and especially for everyday stockings and sturdy shoes. Now she was dressed, her bare feet felt even more peculiar. Positively wanton.
    She should have asked Mrs. Bark way to find a fichu of some kind to fill in the low neckline. Ah well, it wasn’t as if she intended to go out in public.
    She wandered to the window to contemplate the very ordinary world, wishing she belonged in it. Perhaps she should escape while she had the chance. Poor people sometimes went barefoot. It might not be so bad. She’d given her word, but she’d warned St. Raven that she might not keep it if she saw a chance of escape…
    The door opened, and she whirled, but it was only Mrs. Bark way again with—heaven be praised!—her shoes in her hand.
    Cressida hurried over. “Oh, where did you find them?”
    “Mr. Lyne had them, miss. But no sign of your stockings, I’m afraid. I can get you some from the village, but they’ll be simple stuff.”
    Cressida was supping her feet into the green silk slippers. “Anything would be wonderful. I had a shawl, as well, but I think that must have been lost far from here. Is there any chance of a fichu?”
    “You poor dear. I’ll see what I can do, miss. Now, His Grace isn’t back yet. Would you like something to eat or drink while you wait? I don’t see why you should starve at his pleasure.”
    Cressida chuckled at this, wanting to hug the woman. “I’d love something. Coffee, chocolate, tea. Whatever is most convenient. And perhaps a bit of bread.”
    “I’ll fetch it, then I’ll be off to the village. No woman wants to be without her stockings and a good, firm pair of garters.”
    Cressida agreed, feeling that nothing could be too terrible in a world that included Mrs. Barkway. Soon she was sipping rich chocolate and enjoying a fresh sweet roll spread thick with butter. The duke lived well in his simple surroundings, but that was hardly surprising. For all his casual ways and this simple house, he was next best thing to royalty.
    Who played at highwayman.
    She shook her head over that, but she’d learned that the ton often indulged in strange behavior. There were lords who played at coachman, so why not a duke who played at highwayman? Except that it was