When a Girl Loves an Earl (Rescued from Ruin Book 5) by Elisa Braden Read Free Book Online Page B

Wallingham is my only conduit to the truth.”
    Lucien snorted. “You do not wish to be beholden to the dragon. Trust me on this.”
    “There is nothing for it.”
    “You could reconsider—”
    “No.”
    “Come now, marriage can be delightful with the right—”
    “No.”
    “—woman. Imagine having one at your disposal, managing your household, seeing to your comfort, legally bound to obey you.”
    James shook his head. “Victoria obeys you, eh?”
    “Victoria is different.”
    “Mm-hmm.”
    “She is less a woman and more an angel. Divine creatures do not adhere to earthly rules.”
    Unbidden, a face appeared in James’s mind. Not the gentle, even features of Victoria Wyatt, but a vision of pure ivory skin, black-lashed eyes as blue as twilight, a nose so tiny it was but a whisper, and lips as sweetly curved as flower petals. He had never imagined such beauty existed. Until two weeks ago, when it had sparkled up at him, glimmering with mischief and fascination, glowing like a gem warmed by moonlight.
    And, of course, at every gathering he had attended since, the daft woman had pursued him with intractable persistence and a concerning lack of caution.
    “Leave off,” he grumbled now, perturbed that she had intruded on his thoughts again. She was a flirtatious fribble, a tiny sprite he could crush with one careless hand. Even if he had desired a wife—which he did not —she was the last woman he’d choose.
    Lucien chuckled. “Very well, no more talk of marriage. For now. Incidentally, what has brought you so readily to the toilsome task of locating your heir? You are in excellent health if your bout at Gentleman Jackson’s is any indication.”
    Silence fell between them for long minutes, the only sounds the clop of hooves upon gravel, the chatter of passersby, and the relentless rush of wind through newly sprung leaves.
    Lucien clicked his tongue. “No answer. This is dire, indeed. Is there a murderous plot afoot? Someone has, at long last, tired of your surly ways and weighty brow. Or perhaps has grown resentful of your general intransigence.” He sighed theatrically and shook his head. “It was bound to happen. I would guess Gibbons.”
    James glowered. “My valet?”
    “He has the patience of a saint, unquestionably, but every man has limits. Merely stuffing those gargantuan feet of yours into boots each morning would send anyone into fits of madness. Say nothing of tying a cravat ’round that thick neck.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. Gibbons and I get on quite well.”
    “Your tailor, then?”
    “Nobody is aiming to murder me, ye daft sod.”
    Lucien’s glance was half sardonic amusement, half concern. “Then, what is it?”
    He did not wish to say. It would only serve to reopen Lucien’s old wounds. But Luc’s dark gaze would not leave him, rocking in time with his horse. James squeezed his reins tighter before deliberately loosening his fists. “Gregory.”
    Lucien’s eyes shadowed and flattened. He turned to glance ahead for a moment then gave a single nod.
    Gregory had been Lucien’s brother and James’s friend. More than that, he’d been honorable through and through. James had stood at his side the day of the duel. He had watched the Duke of Blackmore put a ball through a good man’s heart from forty paces.
    He shifted in his saddle, pushing past the memory to continue explaining the nature of his urgency. “My father died of injuries caused by a fire. Hargrave died of a lung complaint.” He blew out a breath and gestured to the path before them. “Bloody hell, I could have died right here last winter.”
    Lucien grimaced. “It would take more than a scurrilous knife attack by a pair of brigands to kill you. I’d wager their bells are still ringing.”
    “Perhaps. But my duty is to those who depend upon me. I cannot leave matters unsettled.”
    Shooting James a considering glance, Lucien opened his mouth to speak, but a commotion from behind them had them twisting in their