The Blacksheep's Arranged Marriage. Karen Toller Whittenburg

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СКАЧАТЬ odd tone. Surely, Archer didn’t believe Thea was that bad. She wasn’t much to look at, true. She didn’t have much to say for herself, either. And she wore clothes more suitable for a prim nineteenth century schoolmarm than a twenty-first century debutante. But Peter had never thought she was as hopeless as most people seemed to think. He’d certainly never thought of her as the ugly duckling some of his friends considered her to be.

      Which didn’t mean he was looking forward to the evening. Quite the contrary. But he didn’t think it would be unbearable, either, as his father clearly did. And he didn’t believe Thea had any misconceptions about his reason for asking her out. They were attending the event together because their grandparents had decided they should. End of story. “Grandfather’s right. I should go. It wouldn’t do for a Braddock to be late for a date…no matter who it is or what the circumstances.”

      “Peter,” James said, his gaze narrowed firmly on Archer. “I think you ought to know that your grandfather has been engaging in some match—”

      “—hopeful contemplation,” Archer interrupted firmly, “that you and Miss Berenson will have a perfectly lovely evening. And that you will be, as you always are, a perfect gentleman.”

      “I believe you can safely count on that.” Peter tossed the keys to his BMW roadster and caught them with confidence. “It’s the one thing you can always count on your grandsons to be. Good night, Dad. Grandpop,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast.”

      Peter turned and started out, then paused to flash a grin over his shoulder at James. “Oh, and Dad, watch out for your queen. Looks like Grandpop is just about to turn her into a damsel in distress.”

      THEA CREPT ALONG THE tree limb, keeping a firm grip on the branch with one hand and pausing every few inches to scoot the down comforter bundled beneath her so she wouldn’t scratch her bare thighs on the rough bark. She’d jerked the comforter from her bed without a thought as to how slippery it would be, just as she’d climbed out on this limb without stopping to consider that she was a wee bit underdressed for tree climbing. But it was too late for second thoughts at this point. She was several feet up in the old oak, straddling the down-filled comforter for all she was worth and wishing she had never rescued the calico kitten from an untimely end in the first place.

      Ahead of her and one narrow branch above her head, the kitten yowled out a fearful screech of a sound. “Would you quit that, Ally?” Thea said softly. “If Grandmother finds us in this tree, it’ll cost you at least eight of your nine lives, and you don’t have that many left.” It would mean a stern lecture for her, too, but Thea didn’t imagine the kitten would care much about that. As dearly as she loved all of her pets, none of them seemed to appreciate the sacrifices she made in order to keep them in the manner to which they’d become accustomed.

      Inching forward just a bit farther, she lifted a tentative hand up to the little calico, which fuzzed and arched her back in fright, before backing up another few inches along the tree limb.

      “Come on, Ally. I’m here to help. Honest.” She coaxed the kitten with low, soothing tones, as she hugged the comforter with her thighs and scrooched farther along the oak branch. “How many times do we have to go through this drill before you trust me to get you back inside?”

      The kitten meowed plaintively, her tawny eyes rounded in distress, her claws clenched on the tree like tiny anchors. Thea calculated the distance from where she was to where the kitten was, and back to the attic window from where she’d started this rescue mission. Grace Place, her grandmother’s childhood home, loomed large and sullen beside the leafy old oak, the open attic window the only inviting element in the otherwise hulking structure. But a home was more than stones and mortar. Grace Place was all the home Thea had ever known, her grandmother all she knew of family. The house really wasn’t so bad. It had potential and someday, when her grandmother was no longer around to protest every change, Thea imagined it would look very different with gardens of bright flowers and shutters painted a soft cream, instead of stark black. Inside the house, she’d replace the heavy draperies with open-weave curtains, which would welcome every drop of sun, warming the rooms with natural light, instead of conserving every degree of artificial heat within by keeping the outside weather out.

      But someday wasn’t today.

      Today was Angela Merchant’s wedding day and, if Thea didn’t get this silly kitten out of the tree, get herself inside and dressed, she was going to miss one of the biggest social events of the season. Not that she’d mind in the least. But her grandmother wouldn’t hear of such a thing, which meant Thea was going to the wedding, by gum or by golly.

      If only Davinia hadn’t decided that this time Thea required an escort….

      Like a bad omen, she heard the distant throb of a powerful engine and her heart picked up the throaty rhythm, adding in a ragged, anxious beat. Peter Braddock was on his way to get her. By the sound of it, he was nearly at the gate, which meant he’d be ringing the front bell in ten minutes. Or less.

      She entertained a fleeting thought of staying up in the tree and hoping no one would find her. But that was merely wishful thinking. Monroe always found her, no matter how well she thought she was hidden. Thea frowned meaningfully at the kitten. “This is it, alley cat. Either you come with me now, or you’ll have to get yourself down. What’s it to be?”

      She extended her arm as far as possible and coaxed in low, persuasive tones, “Here, kitty, kitty. Come on, kitty….”

      The calico seemed to sense her last chance and, crouching low on the limb, made a tentative move toward Thea’s outstretched fingers. “That’s right,” Thea coached. “Just a little bit farther…”

      The low purring of the sports car’s engine slowed, indicating it had reached the gate. Peter was probably buzzing in even now and once the gates swung open, it wouldn’t take him two minutes to reach the house. Thea knew it was now or never, so she made a grab for the cat. Catching hold of one furry leg, the whole scrabbling, scratching ball of fur came tumbling into her arms and tried to climb her shoulder. “Stop it, Ally,” she said, trying desperately to calm the kitten and maintain her grip on the tree branch. But her balance was off and the down comforter was slip-sliding dangerously. All Thea could do was hold on to the cat as she tipped to the side and fell, shielding the kitten with a last-minute hunching of her shoulders.

      She hit the ground in a rolling thud, thankfully cushioned by the soft bulk of the down comforter, and clambered to her feet, still holding on to the kitten and ignoring the sharp ache in her hip. The engine had revved again, preparatory to sweeping around the curving drive to the house, and she knew her window of opportunity was fading fast. If she didn’t get in the house immediately, Peter Braddock was going to drive up and see his date for the evening clad only in her silk slip. Leaving the comforter pooled at the base of the tree, Thea made a wild, limping dash for the back of the house, praying fervently that Monroe had left the door to the servants’ quarters unlocked and that Peter Braddock would turn out to be extremely nearsighted.

      PETER CAUGHT A GLIMPSE of a scantily clad female form—a rather nice form from what he could see—running around the corner of the house as he drove up. Funny. He’d heard that the only females at Grace Place were old Davinia, Thea and the elderly retainer’s plump wife. Apparently, though, there was at least one slim, young and attractive woman on the household staff. Either that, or one of the groundskeepers had invited his girlfriend over for a little afternoon delight. Wouldn’t Mrs. Carey have a fit if she knew about that? She’d probably string the man up by his thumbs and post him by the front gates as a warning to anyone else with lascivious appetites who might step foot on her property. Thea’s grandmother seemed a regular tyrant, a throwback to another era, an idealist who believed the restraints and restrictions of Victorian СКАЧАТЬ