The Lady Chosen by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online Page B

went with the clipped words held an arctic chill.
    Neither Sir Humphrey nor Jeremy noticed. As, with anelegant nod, he turned from them, he could see in their eyes that they were already drifting back to whatever world they customarily inhabited.
    Who stood at the helm of this household was increasingly clear.
    Leonora opened the door and led Trentham into the front hall. Henrietta lifted her head, but for once didn’t follow; she settled down again before the fire. The desertion struck Leonora as unusual, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it; she had a dictatorial earl to dismiss.
    Cloaked in chilly calm, she swept to the front door and halted; Castor slipped past and stood ready to open the door. Head high, she met Trentham’s hazel eyes. “Thank you for calling. I bid you a good day, my lord.”
    He smiled, something other than charm in his expression, and held out his hand.
    She hesitated; he waited…until good manners forced her to surrender her fingers into his clasp.
    His untrustworthy smile deepened as his hand closed strongly about hers. “If you could spare me a few minutes of your time?”
    Under his heavy lids, his gaze was hard and clear. He had no intention of releasing her until she acceded to his wishes. She tried to slip her fingers free; his grip tightened fractionally, enough to assure her she could not. Would not. Until he permitted it.
    Her temper erupted. She let her disbelief— how dare he? —show in her eyes.
    The ends of his lips quirked. “I have news you’ll find interesting.”
    She debated for two seconds, then, on the principle that one shouldn’t cut off one’s nose to spite one’s face, she turned to Castor. “I’ll walk Lord Trentham to the gate. Leave the door on the latch.”
    Castor bowed and swung the door wide. She allowed Trentham to lead her out. He paused on the porch. Thedoor shut behind them; he glanced back as he released her, then met her gaze and waved at the garden.
    “Your gardens are amazing—who planted them, and why?”
    Assuming that, for some reason, he wished to ensure they were not overheard, she went down the steps by his side. “Cedric Carling, a distant cousin. He was a renowned herbalist.”
    “Your uncle and brother—what’s their primary interest?”
    She explained as they strolled down the winding path to the gate.
    Brows rising, he glanced at her. “You spring from a family of authorities on eccentric subjects.” His hazel eyes quizzed her. “What’s your specialty?”
    Head rising, she halted. Met his gaze directly. “I believe you had some news you thought might interest me?”
    Her tone was pure ice. He smiled. For once with neither charm nor guile. The gesture, strangely comforting, warmed her. Thawed her…
    She fought off the effect, kept her eyes on his—watched as all levity faded and seriousness took hold.
    “I met with Stolemore. He’d been given a thorough thrashing, very recently. From what he let fall, I believe his punishment stemmed from his failure to secure your uncle’s house for his mysterious buyer.”
    The news rocked her, more than she cared to admit. “Did he give any indication who…?”
    Trentham shook his head. “None.” His eyes searched hers; his lips tightened. After a moment, he murmured, “I wanted to warn you.”
    She studied his face, forced herself to ask, “Of what?”
    His features once more resembled chiseled granite. “Unlike your uncle and brother, I don’t believe your burglar has retired from the field.”
    *   *   *
    He’d done all he could; he hadn’t meant to do even that much. He didn’t, in fact, have the right. Given the situation within the Carling ménage, he’d be well advised not to get involved.
    The next morning, seated at the head of the table in the breakfast room of Trentham House, Tristan idly scanned the news sheets, kept one ear on the twitterings of the three of the six female residents who’d decided to join him for tea and toast, and otherwise kept his