True Story (The Deverells, Book One) by Jayne Fresina Read Free Book Online Page A

don't
gamble."
    His fingers flexed upon the table
before her. Grit had formed in the creases of his knuckles— sand,
perhaps, for she already felt how it got into and under everything
here. Black hair crisscrossed his forearms, very masculine, making
her wonder how it would feel to be caught in his embrace. How thick
his wrist seemed, powerful. She imagined his pulse throbbing, full
of vitality.
    In the olden days it was
more than a kiss that got sacrificed to a Jameson to keep bad luck
at bay.
    The kitchen was warm and so was she.
Getting warmer by the minute, her temperature increasing with the
speed of her heart's beat.
    But Olivia Westcott
Ollerenshaw Pemberton Monday was not afraid of anything. Least of
all a man who clearly had the wrong idea about her. Handy man ,
indeed!
    As if those two words had any business
being put together.
     

Chapter Five
     
    "You don't gamble, eh?"
Then what was she doing there with him ? True was amused and intrigued.
"Think I might win?"
    "I know you won't."
    How stiffly she sat, and how clipped
and sharp her voice. Weary hollows were evident under her eyes, but
she didn't sag, didn't even rest her arms on the table. "Then what
do you have to lose, Mrs. Monday?"
    "I told you, I do not gamble. Nor
would I take money from a fellow who is, in all likelihood, in need
of coin to feed his wife and children."
    He laughed. "Trying to find out if I
have a wife at home?"
    Her eyes glittered with icicles of
righteous anger. "I merely—"
    "I'll save you the trouble and tell
you now. I don't have a wife."
    Her gaze skimmed his shoulders and
then she stared at the table, apparently studying the wood grain.
The tiny pearls hanging from her ears trembled indignantly. They
were her only jewelry; the only decorative touch to her apparel.
She wore no bows, frills or fancy lace. He'd never seen such a
miserable gown. The color hovered in some purgatory between
raincloud and ditchwater, and it looked as if the pieces of it were
cut to a pattern of indifference, then stitched with
resentment.
    "But don't get any ideas and start
eyeing me up for yourself," he teased. "The master doesn't
encourage romance between staff."
    "Nothing could be further from my
intentions."
    He leaned back and burped. "Because
I've had enough petticoat to last me a lifetime and I'm not looking
for more."
    She winced. "Really? So many women and
not one of them taught you any manners."
    "Too busy enjoying my other talents,
weren't they." He winked.
    "Clearly those talents do not involve
a razor and comb."
    "I don't believe in gilding the lily."
He smirked, rubbing the stubble of his chin and relishing her
expression of polite dismay. "Any woman who tries to keep me clean
shaven and fragrant, like a dandy, must not know how to appreciate
a real man."
    "And any fellow who abandons all good
manners for fear it might somehow make him less of a man, must not
know how to appreciate a real lady."
    "I see we're going to have friction
between us, you and me."
    Her eyes widened.
    "Best be careful we don't cause a
spark of fire," he added.
    "Fortunately we are surrounded by
water. I'm confident any wayward sparks can be doused
efficiently."
    No wonder Sims had been unable to
describe her. She was a curiosity. Accustomed to less complicated
women whose motivations were usually as blatantly displayed as
their bosom, True was utterly baffled by this briskly no-nonsense
widow who had bizarrely, and knowingly, put herself in his way.
Despite her unexpected youth, she was every bit as stern as he
would expect of a parson's wife. But the haughty expression and
starched manners didn't fit her any better than that ugly gown, the
sleeves of which were too big for her wrists.
    This woman, he decided, was a fibber—
trying to persuade him that she was something she wasn't. Perhaps
even trying to persuade herself too.
    Her hair was brown, divided by a
center part and swept back into a tightly braided lump at the nape
of her neck. No ringlets, nothing to