The Taste of Innocence by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online Page A

his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Where to?” she asked, as if only vaguely interested.
    He gestured to the French doors. “Let’s start with the terrace.”
    Without looking back—she had no need to catch any hopeful glances their parents might throw their way—she let him lead her out onto the flagstones. He waited while she hitched her shawl about her shoulders, then offered his arm. She took it, and they strolled side by side along the terrace.
    Their sisters were three small figures dwindling in size as they followed the path that bordered the ornamental lake.
    “Pray they don’t see us and turn back.”
    She glanced up; Charlie, eyes narrowed, was watching the other three. Smiling, she looked ahead. “They’re discussing Augusta’s come-out. It would require something significantly startling to distract them from that.”
    He humphed. “True.” He glanced at her as they continued along the terrace. “You don’t appear as afflicted as the norm when it comes to feminine mania for the Season.”
    She shrugged. “I enjoyed my seasons well enough, but after the first blush, the balls are just balls, the parties just more glittering examples of the parties we have here. If one had a reason for being there, I suspect it might be different, but behind the glamor I found it rather empty—devoid of purpose, if you like.”
    He raised his brows, but made no reply.
    They reached the end of the terrace; instead of turning back, he led her around the corner where the terrace continued down the south side of the house.
    He glanced up at the façade beside them. “You must know this house nearly as well as I.”
    “I doubt anyone knows this house as well as you. Perhaps Jeremy…” She shook her head. “No, not even he. You grew up here; it’s your home, and you always knew you would inherit it. It’s Jeremy’s home, but it isn’t his in the same way. I’d wager you know every corner of every attic.” Head tilted, she caught his eye.
    He grinned. “You’re right. I used to poke into every distant corner—and yes, I always knew it would be mine.”
    Halting before another set of French doors, he opened one, then stood back and waved her in.
    “The library. I haven’t been in here for years.” Stepping over the threshold, she looked around. “You’ve redecorated.”
    He nodded. “This was Alathea’s domain until she married, then it became mine. For some reason my father rarely came here.”
    She slowly pirouetted, absorbing the changes—the masculine atmosphere imparted by deeply padded armchairs covered in dark brown leather, the heavy forest-green velvet curtains framing the windows, the lack of delicate vases and lamps, the ornaments she’d grown accustomed to seeing scattered about the room during Alathea’s tenure. But the sense of luxury, of pervasive wealth, was still there, carried in the rich hues in the portrait of some ancestor hanging above the fireplace, in the clean lines of the crystal decanter on the tantalus, in the large urn by the door with its transparent antiquity.
    “The desk’s the same.” She studied the massive, wonderfully carved piece that sat across one end of the room. Its surface was lovingly polished, but the stacked papers, pens and pencils upon it bore mute witness that the space was in use.
    Charlie had closed the French doors on the chill air outside. At the other end of the room a fire leapt and crackled beneath the old, carved stone mantelpiece, shedding warmth and light onto the Aubusson carpet—a new one in shades of deep greens and browns. Firelight flickered over myriad leather-bound tomes crowding the shelves lining the inner and end walls, striking glints from the gold-embossed titles.
    Sarah drank it all in, then turned to where Charlie had halted before the middle of the three sets of French doors facing the terrace, the south lawn, and, in the distance, an arm of the lake. He was looking out. She moved to join him.
    Turning his head, he