The Earl With the Secret Tattoo by Kieran Kramer Read Free Book Online Page A

to understanding why
     the earl had been interfering in her life ever since that robbery happened—and why
     her life might be in danger now.
    She closed her hand over the supposedly unlucky copper disk and prayed that her father
     was watching over her.
    <#>
    Almost as soon as James returned to his house from his visit to the Brady mansion
     on Grosvenor Square, he turned back around and headed there again. He’d promised Lady
     Brady to show her his father’s last painting. It was in James’s hands now, and he
     was inordinately proud of it. It depicted him and his father fishing, one of their
     favorite pastimes. He knew the marchioness hadn’t asked to see it right then, but
     why not?
    He raced up the stairs just as the door opened at the Brady house and Lady Eleanor
     Gibbs came out, tying her bonnet under her chin.
    “Lord Tumbridge!” she exclaimed.
    “Lady Eleanor!” He was one step below her.
    She gave a last tug on her bow, her face framed beautifully within its straw brim.
    He held up the painting. “My father painted this. Lady Brady wanted to see it.”
    She looked at the painting with a great deal of interest, then back at him. “Lord
     Tumbridge?”
    “Yes?”
    “It’s a lovely painting.” Her tone was warm, admiring.
    “It is, isn’t it?” He grinned at her, foolishly pleased that she liked his father’s
     work.
    “Yes.” But then she bit her lip and looked at him as if he were someone she’d never
     seen before. “It—it’s something I’d long to have in my own house.”
    Her face, he noticed, was paler than usual.
    And then he realized what was happening. His heart sank, and he looked down at the
     painting to compose himself. When he looked up again, his expression was cynical and
     bored. “I suppose it’s all right for an amateur.”
    Her eyes instantly clouded. “Who are the man and boy? You and your father?”
    He shrugged. “I’ve no idea. Excuse me, my lady. I’ve a commitment to fulfill.”
    He hoped he’d made it sound the veriest chore to visit with Lady Brady. With a quick,
     careless movement, he slung the beloved painting under his arm and walked past Eleanor
     into the house.
    Lady Janice stood on the stairs. “Back for more, Lord Tumbridge?” She laughed. “Aren’t
     you brave!”
    He looked over his shoulder. The butler was approaching the door to shut it. But before
     he did, James saw Eleanor looking back up at him, her brown eyes puzzled, and then
     scurry off, her reticule swinging madly from her hand.
    <#>
    That night, Eleanor was off to another ball in a luxurious carriage with her mother,
     stepfather, and Clare. Viscount Henly would meet Clare at the gathering, where Eleanor
     hoped to see Lord Tumbridge, as well. All afternoon and evening, she’d secretly replayed
     their meeting on the steps at the Brady mansion.
    She’d almost literally been bowled over by the earl’s charm, his happy grin, and his
     warmth. But then it had all disappeared in an instant, and she had to wonder if she’d
     imagined it.
    Not that she had time to daydream about handsome, mysterious earls. In the carriage,
     Lord Pritchard sat directly across from her, his large knees knocking into hers. He
     made no effort to turn sideways, even a little, to alleviate the situation, as most
     gentlemen did.
    “How was your visit to the Sherwoods today?” he asked her.
    She sent him a tight smile. She’d never liked him, not from the very beginning, when
     he’d come visit Papa and Mother and pretend to be fond of her. She could see in his
     eyes that he wasn’t at all. Yet when she’d mentioned it to her parents once at dinner,
     Mother had scolded her for being unfriendly. And Papa hadn’t contradicted Mother.
     He’d sat with an uncertain look in his eye and hadn’t say a word in Eleanor’s defense.
    Her parents’ lack of belief in her that day—Mother’s insistence that she carried unnecessary
     hostility toward Lord Pritchard and Papa’s silence on the