The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) by Barbara Devlin Read Free Book Online

I need to convey a parcel of ham, cheese, and bread to the widow Cartwright.”
    “And you intend to do so, on foot?” Dalton stretched upright. “Where is your coach? Or why do you not take a horse?”
    “It is a lovely day, and I am rather fond of long walks.” She set her chin firm, as if to convince him of her claim, yet he suspected otherwise. “And I might have missed you, had I done as you suggest.”
    “And now you flatter me, in an effort to spike my guns.” In that instant, he dismounted. When he charged Miss Daphne, she retreated, but he caught her about the waist. “Hold tight to your basket, sweet lady.”
    “What are you doing?” Shock invested her charming features, as she stammered and sputtered, when he lifted her to the saddle. “Sir Dalton, I protest.”
    “My mother raised a gentleman, and I could not leave you to roam the countryside, alone, as it is not done. Now, scoot forward.” After she had done as he bade, he lunged and perched behind her. “Hand me the reins, love.”
    “This is not a good idea.” When she shifted, her soft bottom teased his crotch, and his loins erupted in flames. “And please do not call me that, as it makes you sound disingenuous.”
    “On the contrary, it is an excellent idea.” Even as he uttered the words, he doubted his sanity, as the old one-eyed marauder came to life. “And you object to a term of endearment?”
    “Not all terms—just that one.” She wiggled, and he gritted his teeth. “As I know you love me not.”
    “Would you care to explain yourself, as you could not think me serious?” Perhaps it would have been better to walk alongside his horse, as his current position challenged the limits of his self-control and his breeches. “Sit still, before you send us both toppling to the ground.”
    “Do not rip at me, as I never asked for a ride.” She fixed her stare on the road. “And my father called my mother by such pet names, yet his expressions were insincere.”
    “So my actions evoke unpleasant memories.” Without thinking, he pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “My apologies, as I never meant to upset you.”
    “Turn left, please.” Gooseflesh covered her arms. “Continue straight until we reach the pond. Then veer right.”
    “Are you chilled?” He studied the elegant curve of her neck and her fleshy earlobe, which manifested a wicked enticement. Then a gentle breeze carried a subtle lilac scent from her blonde locks to his nose, and he bit back a groan. In search of diversion, he shrugged from his coat, one arm at a time, and draped it over her. “Better?”
    “Yes.” She stiffened her spine. “Although my shawl sufficed for a stroll, which I would much prefer, if only you would put me down.”
    “That is not going to happen.” He followed her directions and steered his stallion to the west. “So, have you had any luck tracking my pilfered heirloom?”
    “Some.” A subtle flinch belied her calm demeanor and all but highlighted her internal unrest. “I wager you will celebrate the return of the brooch, soon.”
    “Oh?” Bloody hell. Prying secrets from her was like peeling a turtle. “Do you know the perpetrators of the dastardly deed, as you sound very certain?”
    “I told you before, Portsea is a small community. Everyone knows everyone, here.” She hugged her basket to her chest. “And the guilty party meant no harm.”
    “Do you not reference the thief?” A violent shudder rocked her frame and declared he had scored a direct hit. If he had any doubts to the identity of the bandit, her response had erased them. One of her brother’s had stolen the trinket. “Perhaps you are familiar with the villain? Do you intend to protect the scoundrel?”
    “He is no scoundrel—and I know not his identity. I spoke in the general sense.” She shifted to meet Dalton’s stare. “Hunger is rampant, and our townspeople have been forced into desperate circumstances, with most of our able-bodied men at war.