Whispers from the Shadows by Roseanna M. White Read Free Book Online Page B

this man a whit.
    â€œI am…” She could not claim to be well. That was too obvious a falsehood. But the truth was hardly polite conversation. She twisted her fingers together and said no more. The fact that she was would have to do for now.
    Something sparked in his eyes, putting her in mind of the dark yellow topazes Mama had favored on autumn days. He stepped from the doorway and straightened. “You must be famished. Come, sit.” He motioned toward the room behind him. “I will ask Rosie to prepare you a plate. We expected you to sleep the night through.”
    â€œIt is still today, then?”
    Only when he breathed a laugh did she realize how ridiculous a question that was. Heat kissed her cheeks, but the smile he sent her bespoke understanding.
    â€œStill today. You slept only four hours.” He ushered her into thebrightly lit dining room, where the scent of beef lingered.
    â€œFour! I have not slept so much at once since I left.”
    She half expected him to echo Captain Arnaud and the Wesleys, to say that now that her feet were firmly upon the land, she would soon return to normal. Instead he only acknowledged her statement with a hum low in his throat.
    Gwyneth drifted to a stop, her gaze fastened on the cup at the head of the table. At home that was where Papa would have sat, steaming coffee before him.
    Captain Lane touched a hand to her elbow and pulled out the chair adjacent to the one that must be his. “Would you like some coffee, Miss Fairchild?”
    She had never cared for the stuff, but her father had always said a good cup of it could wake him like nothing else. At this point, it was worth a try. “Yes, please.”
    He set another white cup on the table and poured. “Cream and sugar are there if you take them. I will be back in a moment.”
    Pulling the mug closer, Gwyneth stared into the inky liquid. Then she had to close her eyes at a sudden assault of images. The grin on Papa’s face when she had begged him for a taste of his favorite brew. Mama’s laughter when she had wrinkled her nose at the first touch of bitterness on her tongue. The joy of realizing Papa must have returned from campaign when the scent filled the house again in the mornings.
    A clink brought her eyes open. A plate of food had appeared before her, and her host was taking his chair. “There you are. Your guardians retired and my parents took a stroll, but we only just finished. It was still warm.”
    â€œThank you.” She lifted her fork but then paused to regard him. “You were not expecting us, were you. Despite what that letter from Papa said.”
    He cleared his throat and poured more coffee into his cup. “Correspondence from England has been rather undependable, but my home is always open to my friends.”
    â€œI am hardly that, Mr. Lane. I am only the daughter of your parents’ friend.”
    â€œClose enough.” He took a sip. “And it is ‘Captain.’ Or ‘Thad’—with my father in residence, it may otherwise be confusing.”
    Her fingers tightened around her fork. She couldn’t possibly.
    He leaned back in his chair and studied her. “What are your plans? Will you stay with us a while, or are you en route to somewhere else?”
    â€œI…” The muggy air seemed to converge upon her, weighing her arm down until she had to rest it upon the table. “Papa said to come here, and that he would be no more than a month behind me.”
    Except that he would never come, would never give her instruction on what she should do next. She was trapped in this land that wasn’t home, among a people who considered her the enemy.
    Why hide the truth? The London papers would report his murder, and they would not be far behind her.
    Her stomach cramped, and the world doubled again. Uncle Gates would come. He might already be on his way. What if he thought she knew about whatever he had been looking