The Lady Risks All by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online Page A

experience, ladies with strong opinions—and Miss Clifford struck him as very much that sort—didn’t readily change their views. Yet scrutinizing her expression, and her lovely hazel eyes, he detected nothing other than absolute sincerity.
    Roderick’s sister, it seemed, was one of those rare strong women strong enough to admit to being wrong.
    Releasing the doorknob, he inclined his head. “Apology accepted.” He’d anticipated spending half an hour goading her, eventually dragging a grudging apology from her; she’d taken the wind from his sails, but he could hardly admit to feeling deflated. “And most who know me call me Roscoe.”
    Why he’d added that he wasn’t sure, yet it seemed appropriate. Stepping back, he waved her to join him. “Come—I’ll walk you home.”
    She’d started forward but now stopped and met his gaze. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. As I daresay you know, we live just around the corner.”
    He couldn’t keep his lips from curving. “Yes, I do know. However, Miss Clifford, it appears you’re harboring yet another misapprehension—a gentleman like me would never allow a lady to walk home alone, whether at night or during the day.”
    Miranda studied his face; the set of his lips—that suggestion of a smile—was subtly taunting. She’d apologized, and he’d accepted, but he wasn’t yet finished rescripting her view of him.
    Replaying his words, she searched for some way to acceptably decline, but what could she say? I’m not that much of a lady?
    Accepting the inevitable, she inclined her head and went forward to join him in the corridor.
    Side by side, they walked back to the gallery. The lamps had been lit; in the soft light, she paused to look more closely at one of the paintings. She pressed her lips tight but couldn’t hold back her question. “Is this . . . ?” She waved at the canvas.
    “An original? Yes. One of his better works, I feel.”
    She glanced at him; he’d halted at the top of the stairs, waiting with unruffled patience for her. “I’m tempted to make some comment about the wages of sin, but that would be another misapprehension, wouldn’t it?”
    He smiled. A genuine, utterly heart-stopping smile, it warmed her in places she hadn’t thought could be warmed. But “Yes, it would” was all he said.
    She glanced at the other two paintings, then at the tapestry, then, having delayed the inevitable for as long as she could, joined him.
    They went down the stairs; she’d wondered if he would lead her through the rear gardens or go via the streets, but she wasn’t about to argue his choice. Despite the risk of being seen with him—and given it was so late, in such a quiet neighborhood that wasn’t so great—at this time of night, she would much prefer the open streets to the narrow alleys.
    His butler was hovering in the front hall. Tall, gray-haired, and stately, and so well-trained that he evinced not the slightest sign of surprise at the appearance of a lady who, as far as he knew, hadn’t been admitted to the house, the butler bowed, then at Roscoe’s request went to fetch his coat. She used the moment to look around the hall, drinking in the elegant paneling and the three large landscapes adorning the walls.
    The butler returned bearing a stylish overcoat. As Roscoe shrugged into it, then settled the sleeves, she allowed herself to glance at him again. Lowering his head, he looked at her, and in the stronger light cast by the lamp on the hall’s central table she finally saw his eyes well enough to make out their hue.
    Dark, sapphire blue.
    It was an arresting shade, jewel-toned and vibrant. As for his hair, fashionably cut, the thick locks layered over his well-shaped head, she suspected it was a deep sable brown that appeared black in most lights.
    The butler had moved to the door. At Roscoe’s glance, he opened it.
    With what she now realized was innate grace, Roscoe waved her through. As she descended the shallow front