The Many Sins of Cris De Feaux (Lords of Disgrace) by Louise Allen Read Free Book Online

waistcoat, resisting the temptation to pitch face down on the bed and go to sleep. It had been a long, long day.
    ‘Precisely, sir. A charismatic young man, by all account, and a complete scoundrel, reading between the lines. But a sort of protégé of the two older ladies, who seem to have regarded him as a lovable rogue.’
    ‘A substitute son, perhaps?’
    ‘I wondered if that was the case.’ Collins began to turn down the bed. ‘And Molly did say something about it being a good thing he married Miss Tamsyn because otherwise that little toad Franklin Holt would have pestered her to distraction. Which I thought interesting, but Cook soon silenced Molly on that topic.’
    ‘Franklin Holt? He is Viscount Chelford, I believe. I think I have seen him around. About my age, black hair, dark eyes, thinks a lot of himself.’ Cris put his sapphire stickpin on the dresser and unwound his neckcloth. ‘A gamester. I have no knowledge about his amphibious qualities.’
    ‘That is the man, sir.’ Collins’s knowledge of the peerage was encyclopedic and almost as good as his comprehension of the underworld. ‘He has a reputation as someone who plunges deep in all matters of sport and play and he is Miss Holt’s nephew. He inherited her father’s lands and titles.’
    ‘And he was annoying Miss Tamsyn, was he?’ And was more than annoying her now, by the sound of it. But why the ladies should imagine he was responsible for sending their sheep over a cliff, he could not imagine.
    Cris pulled off his shirt, shed his trousers and sank gratefully into the enfolding goose-feather bed. ‘You know, Collins, I think I may have overdone things this evening. I feel extraordinarily weak suddenly.’
    ‘That is very worrying, sir.’ The other man’s face was perfectly expressionless. ‘I fear you may have to presume on Miss Holt’s hospitality for several days in that case. I would diagnose a severely pulled muscle in your back and a possible threat to your weak chest.’
    Cris, who could not recall ever having had a wheeze, let alone a bad chest, tried out a pathetic cough. ‘I do fear that travelling would be unwise, but I am reluctant to impose further upon the ladies.’
    ‘I understand your scruples, sir. I will find a cane so you may hobble more comfortably. However, it will be agony for you to travel over these roads with such an injury and I confess myself most anxious that you might insist on doing so. I will probably be so concerned that I will let my tongue run away with me and say so in front of the servants.’
    Cris closed his eyes. ‘Thank you, Collins. You know, you almost convince me of how weak I am. I am certain that if you confide your fears to Cook the intelligence will reach Miss Holt before the morning.’
    ‘Good night, sir.’ The door closed softly behind the valet and when Cris opened his eyes the room was dark. He smiled, thinking, not for the first time, that it was a good thing that Collins chose to employ his dubious talents on the side of the government and law and order.
    Correct behaviour would be to take himself off the next morning, relieving his kind hostesses of the presence of a strange man in their house. But something was wrong her. Tamsyn Perowne was tense, the vague and cheerful Miss Holt was hiding anxiety and the much sharper Miss Pritchard was on the point of direct accusations. But why would they think that Chelford was behind the agricultural slaughter? The man would have to be deranged and, although Cris had seen nothing in their brief encounters to like about the viscount, neither had he any reason to think him insane.
    It was a mystery and Cris liked mysteries. What was more, there were three ladies in distress, who had, between them, possibly saved his life. He owed them his assistance. If he was searching for something to take his mind off love lost in the past, and a marriage of duty in the future, then surely this was it? There was, after all, nothing else he felt like