The Birth of Blue Satan by Patricia Wynn Read Free Book Online Page B

A fellow assaulted me in the street, but I only took a scratch.”
    Her eyes flickered. “An assault, my lord?”
    He chuckled and tried to shrug, but his arm had begun to ache miserably, and the room seemed to turn before his eyes. He could hardly conceal his pain. “Yes, but it is no matter now. Tell me something about yourself, Mrs. Kean. We have talked about me long enough.”
    “I shall tell you about myself if you like,” she said slowly, “but only if you promise that you will alert me the instant you wish me to stop. The look of your brow makes me think you are taking a fever.”
    “Does it?” Gideon reached up and felt the dampness on his forehead. When he moved the arm from his side, he felt a sudden chill. “Very well, I promise to let you know. But you made a promise to divert me, and I am determined to hold you to it.”
    “If you insist, but I must warn you. My life is so far from fascinating, you would do better to let me tell you a fairy tale.”
    “That would be cheating.”
    “Would it? Oh, dear. As you like, then . . . .”
    She seemed at a loss where to begin. In spite of the stabbing pain in his arm and an uncontrollable shiver, Gideon felt a smile tickling the corners of his mouth. It was refreshing to find a woman who was not too eager to talk to no purpose. Mrs. Kean had a restful way about her. If he had wanted a respite while waiting for Isabella’s return, he could have found no better companion.
    He knew something of her story. Mrs. Mayfield had taken her in after the death of her father, a country parson with no fortune to dower her with. Her only brother, a wastrel, had been too poor to offer her a home. On learning this from Mrs. Mayfield herself, Gideon had been relieved to discover this much kindness in his future mother-in-law, especially in light of her other children, living with their brother in the country and yet to be established. But he had squirmed at the tactless way in which she had imparted the news. He had applauded her generous intention to take Mrs. Kean to Court, but lately he had found her treatment of her niece to be less than kind.
    The young lady’s dress was not remotely as lovely as Isabella’s, being unrelievedly dull and of a sober cut not likely to attract a suitor. Gideon supposed Mrs. Kean might have inherited a serious turn of mind from her father, a juring clergyman, which made her choose such a gown when she might have worn something more complimentary to her colouring. As it was, that mustard yellow was unbecoming, although the dress fitted her slim figure well. It would be a shame if Mrs. Kean, who was a good, deserving girl, had not a taste in clothes to help her attract admirers.
    But none of these thoughts did he allow to show, and soon he forgot them himself in their conversation.
    “You come from the north, as I recall. Do you never miss it?” he asked.
    “The wuthering of the wind, the treeless moors, and the blinding snow, my lord? You must think me mad.” She gave a shudder. “I have far too much love of a warm fire.”
    “You prefer a milder climate, then? If so, you must come into Kent. You can always count on the warmest winds at Rotherham Abbey. What think you, Mrs. Kean? Will I be successful if I try to prevail upon Mrs. Isabella and her mother to bring you into Kent?”
    As he spoke Isabella’s name, Gideon let his gaze seek her on the ballroom floor. She was dancing still with Kirkland, her infectious laughter lighting up the room. Gideon felt an instinctive pang when he noted how much her current smile resembled the one with which she always greeted him, as if it had no particular significance.
    Of course, he reminded himself, that was one of the things he loved about her, her constant glow. From where else could such a smile come, if not from some deep fountain of goodness?
    “I should be delighted to accompany Isabella to your house, my lord,” Mrs. Kean said so quietly he almost did not hear her.
    Gideon turned to find