The Bride Price by Anne Mallory Read Free Book Online

of the lines. Stagnant, clean lines without life. She peeked sideways to see him leaning with his head back against the stone armrest, legs sprawled out toward her, the edge of his boot touching her slipper, the edge of his left trouser caressing her dress.
    She surreptitiously drew a bare finger along the chalk line, trying to imitate his actions. No, it just looked like a smudge. She frowned.
    “Magnificent, isn’t it?”
    She jerked guiltily, but his eyes were still closed.
    “One could lie here forever listening to the wind.”
    His eyes remained shut, so she watched him, trying to understand how someone wearing such expensive clothes would so willingly wrinkle and dirty them. None of the guests at Meadowbrook would dare sit on a bench that hadn’t received a thorough scrubbing that morning, no less sit on one that had been left unattended beneath the glow of more than a few full moons.
    He either possessed extreme wealth or was a spoiled son with a complete and total lack of responsibility.
    She was inclined toward the latter.
    And he was full of contradictions. His demeanor and actions, at odds with each other one moment, pulling her in the next, entangled her in knots. A consummate rake, a master of the breed—she’d bet every groat. His relaxation on the bench was a show, a patient waiting, of that she had no doubt. The problem was that a part of her was tensed in anticipation, not outrage.
    And she’d thought Patrick had that indefinable quality that made women, smart women, beg. This man made him seem a silly boy. It made the rational, intellectual part of her uneasy, and the more wild side…Well, best not to think about that.
    Damnable curiosity made her play her part for the moment. “The wind?”
    “Do you not hear it? The melody and soft refrain? You should channel it into your sketch.”
    She cocked her head. She loved to sit outside her cottage and listen to the sounds, but she had never tried to channel them into anything else, always content to simply enjoy.
    “The song of the trees swaying to the gentle rhythm of a conductor we cannot see. Listen to the music, Miss Sculler. Roseford follows nature. Only by opening yourself up can you capture it and break the lifeless chill.”
    She gave him a sharp glance, but he merely smiled and hid aquamarine eyes once again, his fingers tapping some rhythm against his chest.
    Caroline watched the breeze shift the wildflowers and crazed leaves of the ivy as they curled around whatever surface they could find, wrapping the Grange in an embrace. Something shifted in her mind, and she touched the chalk once more to the page. Her lines grew less straight and more fluid as she sketched the grounds, leaving the house alone for the moment. Her motions took on a staccato in the bounce of a squirrel, a slur as a snake slithered through the grass, and a run as nuts and leaves fluttered down the chimney bricks.
    Two cooing doves caused her to speculate on the curve of the garden, and she pulled a finger around the edge.
    The chattering of the robins, crows, and finches grew louder as aviary territory was determined.
    “I do not require battlements, but if they mount a force for war, we may be in trouble,” she muttered.
    One eye opened, and an amused indentation appeared in one cheek. “That we would.” He looked up into the trees. “When I was a boy, I wished to transform into a bird and fly away.”
    “A vulture?” She settled in her seat, more relaxed now. While no one in her right mind would call the man harmless, there was something suddenly conspiratorial about him. She wondered if small prey were lulled into a false sense of security in the same way.
    His mouth curved. “Nothing quite so vivid. I always admired the falcons, but a simple sparrow would have done.”
    She looked down at the page. “When I was a girl I wished to be a princess.”
    “A common dream, I’d think.”
    “For a common girl.” She pulled a line acrossthe page that was more