The Honorable Heir by Laurie Alice Eakes Read Free Book Online Page A

their carriage?”
    “I wanted to walk.”
    This time, the widening of her eyes appeared to be natural surprise. “You wanted to walk in this cold?”
    She glanced at the windows. Beyond the glass, snow swirled like confetti defying gravity, never touching the ground. What flakes did land melted on impact, leaving the winter-brown grass and walkways to the gazebo and lake wet.
    “After two years in South Africa,” Tristram said, “I appreciate precipitation regardless of the temperature.”
    “You were in South Africa?” She gave him a look of sincere interest.
    He returned it with a rueful shrug. “Not a shining hour of mine. The Boer War.”
    “I remember hearing something about you being in the military. You—” She pressed her fingers to her lips as though trying to shove back the rest of her thought.
    He bowed his head. “Captain Lord Tristram Wolfe at your service, my lady.”
    Except he didn’t have a true right to use the military rank. He hoped she didn’t recall that bit of gossip that must have made its way to Bisterne. He had, after all, been allowed to resign his commission.
    “But since I resigned,” he hastened to emphasize this fact, “I never use the rank.”
    “You were wounded.” Her glance flicked to his head. “Are you certain you’re quite well?”
    His hand flew to flatten his cowlick, and he narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you suggesting that my conviction that you are responsible for the missing Bisterne jewels is a result of my being bashed on the head?”
    “I would never be so vulgar.”
    “You’re wearing colors. The vulgarity of that was all Mrs. Selkirk talked of at breakfast this morning.”
    Catherine laughed.
    At the sound of her laughter, an invisible hand wound the already taut watch springs of Tristram’s middle, causing friction, too much warmth. He drank his now cold coffee in an attempt to ease the tension inside him.
    “Shall I order fresh coffee so we may start this conversation over, Lord Tristram?” Catherine rose without waiting for his response, and crossed the room to the bell. “My sister tells me she is trying to convince our father that an internal telephone system will save the servants a great deal of work running up and down steps, as we could call them with our request.”
    Tristram raised his brows at this sudden chatter. It, like the way she stabbed the bell push three times instead of one, spoke as loudly as her voice of her nervousness.
    “But then,” Catherine continued, “Estelle likes gadgets. She is forever recording her own music on her phonograph cylinders. I prefer to listen to live music myself, and perhaps one day—”
    The arrival of the footman stopped the uninterrupted string of words—a string suggesting nervousness on her part, or an effort to keep him from saying anything to her. She gave the order for fresh coffee, remaining silent until the footman removed the tray of used cups, his stare fixed on the discarded rings.
    The instant the man’s footfalls no longer sounded on the stair treads, Tristram rather expected her ladyship to take up her flow of chatter where she had left off. Instead, she glided across the room to a set of windows, her soft wool skirt flowing around her like dark green water.
    “Enough fencing, my Lord Tristram.” She spoke with her back to him, though the day had grown so dark with cloud cover her reflection shone in the glass. “Tell me what transformed you from soldier to Scotland Yard detective? Tell me why you and my cousin by marriage have accused me of stealing jewels from the Bisterne estate. Other than the wedding and engagement ring, of course. I never thought about how they belonged to the estate until this morning, before your call. Surely you didn’t chase me across Europe because of a couple of paltry rings.”
    Paltry? The new Earl of Bisterne could feed every tenant on his estate for a year with the price of those rings alone.
    Tristram said nothing for a full minute, then he