The Husband Hunt by Jillian Hunter Read Free Book Online Page B

means," the old butler, Aubrey, said with an ominous smile, "it is that someone in this house is going to kick the bucket."
    A chorus of gasps met this announcement. Mrs. Evans slapped her towel on the sturdy table for order.
    "You are mistaken, Mr. Aubrey," she said with an air of authority; an indisputable mystical awareness ran in her Welsh veins. Much to the chagrin of her staff, the woman was rarely wrong in such matters. All voices stilled in deference to her opinion.
    "What it means," she continued in a deep, lilting whisper that conjured the land of daffodils and dragons, "is that a certain female in this house is going to surrender her chastity."
    "Well, don't look at me," the young laundress said into the electrified silence that met this prediction.
    The coachman grinned at her across the table. "No good in cryin' over milk wot's been spilt, eh?"
    "But there were two owls hooting," Howard said. "You can't lose your innocence twice, can you?"
    The butler allowed himself the smallest smile. "As my dear mother always said, you are only a virgin once. Unless, of course, you happen to work in certain London brothels, where I understand there are means of extending the number of times—"
    "Mr. Aubrey!" the housekeeper said in horror.
    "As if an owl can foretell a seduction," Dorcas said, snorting at the idea. "You made that up, Mrs. Evans."
    The older woman frowned at her. "I most certainly did not. In my little Welsh village, people still lament the loss of innocence whenever an owl is heard to hoot outside the house."
    "I wonder what it means if it's heard hooting inside," Howard said to himself.
    "It means that I shall be watching each of you very carefully," Mrs. Evans said in a humorless voice. "No one under my employ is going to surrender her virtue if I can help it. This will be a moral household."
    "Why? " Howard asked. "It never was before."
* * *
    Knight found Olivia and the mysterious relation standing together at the window of the green drawing room the next morning. Their breakfast plates sat virtually untouched at the table. For several moments, he remained in the doorway, enjoying his unguarded scrutiny of the young Scotswoman who was speaking in an animated voice to his sister. An unexpected warmth flushed through his veins as his gaze traveled slowly up and down Catriona's figure.
    "And that's a painted lady butterfly," she was explaining, her heavy hair caught back in a ribbon.
    "Really?" Olivia sounded as interested as if she were being shown the Crown Jewels. "Is that what it's called? I never even knew it had a name. I just thought it was a pretty garden butterfly."
    Catriona looked wistful. "My mother knew the names of every bug and beast within a hundred miles of our home."
    "An amateur botanist, was she?" Knight said as he entered the room, ending his lustful examination of his houseguest. He would at least try to be civil in front of his sister.
    Catriona pivoted slowly. "I suppose you could call her that."
    They studied each other in silence. He had to admit she looked more worthy of her claims to the family clad as she was in one of Olivia's older gowns. It was a morning dress that his sister had not worn since Lionel died. The high-waisted lines of the lemon-yellow silk drew attention to Catriona's slender grace and the well-proportioned curves of her figure. He could see now what Wendell had perceived the night before and felt his male senses stirring in response. In fact, she was quite a lovely young woman, he thought in surprise.
    "Oh, look," she said, breaking the strained atmosphere, "that's a grayling, Olivia. They're attracted to the clover."
    "Is there any breakfast left?" Knight asked as the two women hurried back to their butterfly watch. Receiving no answer, he turned to the table and frowned at the untouched plate of eggs in front of his sister's chair.
    "You eat like a bird, Olivia."
    She turned, a smile lighting her face. "Speaking of birds, did you hear those owls last