The Perfect Stranger by Anne Gracíe Read Free Book Online

that she’d been tricked, that she thought she’d married for love.
    Her precious, romantic dream sounded like a cheap excuse now.
    With foreigners, strangers, it was bad enough, but at home, with people she knew, people who’d been friends…
    She couldn’t face them, couldn’t face their pity or scorn or worse, the smug glee that one of the beautiful Virtue Twins had fallen. There would be such play made with that name now. People would forget it had come about because the twins—all the Merridew girls—were named after virtues. Now the name would be an ironic statement, an added twist of the knife.
    She took a final sip of the strong, bitter brew and tipped out the coffee grounds. The spent grounds stained the clean, white sand. She scooped up a handful of sand and drizzled it over them until the stain was buried.
    A pity her errors could not be as easily dealt with. She would never be able to slip back into her old life. She would have to make a new one. But as what?
    Charity and Edward could take her in, find something for her to do in their remote corner of Scotland, where the gossip might not follow her. Faith could help with her little niece, baby Aurora. She would like that. And Prudence, too, was expecting a baby soon. Faith could help her, too. She loved babies, had dreamed of having her own little ones one day…
    She bit her lip. Another dream in the dirt. No decent man would want her for the mother of his children now.
    She heard Stevens swearing softly under his breath. She glanced at him in surprise. He stared down at the beach, and his brow darkened. “Damn! They must think you’re still asleep,” he muttered. She turned to see what had so annoyed him.
    “No, miss! Don’t look!”
    Faith stared at him in surprise.
    Stevens hastened to apologize. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.” He moderated his tone. “Ah, please don’t look at the beach, miss.” He grimaced, looking horribly embarrassed. “It’s no fit sight for a lady.”
    He speared a thick slice of bread onto a wire toasting fork and handed it to Faith. “Make some toast, please, miss. I’ll just nip down and tell those two you’re awake! And don’t turn your head, miss. Trust me!” He hurried down the beach.
    Bemused, Faith took the toasting fork and held the bread over the glowing coals. But she was so very intrigued, she had to look—just one little peek—and so she turned, craning her neck to see what had so upset Stevens down on the beach.
    The toasting fork drooped in her suddenly slackened grasp.
    Nicholas Blacklock and his big Scottish friend had just emerged from their swim and were walking back up the beach toward a pile of clothing. Water streamed from their bodies. Faith swallowed.
    The toast turned a perfect golden brown. Faith didn’t notice. She was too dazzled by the gleam of morning sunshine on wet male bodies.
    Wet, naked male bodies. Nicholas Blacklock and McTavish were totally naked. They strolled up the beach, talking and laughing, naked, unashamed, proudly masculine. Magnificent.
    The toast blackened, then started to smoke. Faith didn’t move.
    Not that she had eyes for the brawny, bearded Scotsman. It was Mr. Blacklock who drew her eyes irresistibly. Faith’s mouth dried as she watched.
    Mr. Blacklock was a Greek statue come to life under her gaze; all hard, masculine elegance and lean, whipcord power. His dark hair was wet, slicked carelessly back from his face, sleek against his head, gleaming in the morning sun.
    His legs were long and powerful, his chest broad and deep. She’d touched that chest. She swallowed at the thought. She watched the bunch and flow of muscles as he moved, lithe and full of the joy of life. His skin glowed. Sheer, naked, masculine beauty, strolling unconcerned up the beach toward her.
    The toast burst into flames.

Chapter Three
Luck affects everything. Let your hook always be cast; in the stream where you least expect it there will be a fish.
O VID
    “T HE TOAST, MISS