The Barefoot Princess by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online

Victorine seemed to be speaking to herself. “Andriana certainly had strong opinions on how you should be raised. Perhaps if your father had listened—”
    “I’m sorry, Miss Victorine, I don’t speak of my mother,” Jermyn said gently and without a hint of the rage that, even after all these years, still possessed him. “Not even to you.”
    “But dear boy, it would be better if you did! I’ll never forget how surprised we were when your father brought her back from Italy. She had such a charming accent, and she was so pretty and so kind.” With a smile, Miss Victorine settled into her reminiscences. “She adored your father and she adored you. I’ve never seen a woman so in love with her husband!”
    “Miss Victorine, please.” Angry blood buzzed in his head.
    “But I know you must have missed her. To keep such grief bottled up inside cannot be good for you.” She sounded sincerely concerned.
    He didn’t care. “Not even to you,” he repeated.
    Hearing the creak of footsteps on the stairs, he realized he’d been saved in more ways than one. He pushed his fork off the edge of the table. It clanked as it hit the floor. He sighed pitifully. “Miss Victorine, with this manacle on my ankle, I can’t reach that.”
    With a cluck of sympathy, Miss Victorine stood and moved toward him.
    As Amy stepped into the cellar, he grabbed Miss Victorine and held her against him with the knife against her throat. With a direct and dreadful glare at Amy, he said, “Let me go or I’ll kill her.”

Chapter 5
    “M y lord!” Miss Victorine’s frail voice quivered. “Dear boy…”
    Against Jermyn’s chest her body felt bony and fragile, and it trembled like that of a frightened bird in a rough lad’s grasp.
    He didn’t care. She’d betrayed him. The kind lady he remembered didn’t exist. She had been part of a plot to kidnap him. She refused to release his manacle. Now she would pay. And when he got loose, she would pay more.
    But smoothly, as if she’d foreseen this very circumstance, that disdainful girl reached into the drawer and pulled out a pistol. Her aim was perfectly steady as she pointed it at him. “Let her go or I’ll shoot you.”
    “I’ve never met a woman who’d have the guts to shoot a man,” he sneered. All the women he knew were too kind. Too gentle.
    “I have the guts,” the girl said. “Better yet, I want to shoot you.”
    That shook him. The words, and the tone, a kind of flat, plain aversion the like of which he’d never met in all of his privileged life.
    What had he ever done to deserve this girl’s contempt? And why did he even care? “Which part of me will you shoot?” he mocked. “All that’s showing is my head—and you can’t be that good with a gun.”
    “I am,” the girl said. “On the count of three, I’ll shoot. One…”
    “You’d take the chance of hurting Miss Victorine?” he asked.
    “I won’t hurt her. Two…”
    “Amy, please, let him go!” Miss Victorine begged. “He was such a sweet boy.”
    “Three.” Amy’s eyes narrowed, her finger began to squeeze the trigger.
    And he released Miss Victorine, spinning her away from him and into a cabinet.
    She landed with a thud and fell.
    The pistol roared.
    He dived to the floor.
    A shot whistled past the place where his head had been.
    Amy gave a sigh of relief. “Damn, that was close. Good thing you surrendered, my lord!”
    “Don’t swear, dear, it’s not ladylike.” And there on the floor, Miss Victorine burst into tears.
    He felt surprisingly like bursting into tears himself. It didn’t matter that he told himself Amy couldn’t have hit him. He didn’t believe himself. That sharp-eyed girl hated him, and until she replaced the gun in the cabinet, he didn’t release his pent-up breath.
    “Miss Victorine.” Without sparing him another glance, Amy hurried to the old lady’s side. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
    “No. No. Well, a little when he tossed me.” Miss Victorine rubbed