The Trouble With Misbehaving. Victoria Hanlen

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Chapter 3

      C.C. wrapped her arms around her middle as she paced back and forth across her bedchamber’s plush carpet. If she had to wait much longer her shoulders would soon ride her hairline. Out of the stillness, footsteps quietly shuffled down the outside hallway. A door lock clicked. She walked to the fireplace and gazed at the Ormolu clock. One a.m.

      Grasping her wineglass off the mantel, she took a gulp to calm her frustration. Would people never go to bed and stay there?

      No doubt, Lord Falgate was lurking somewhere nearby. What was that villain up to? When she’d met him ten years before he’d been involved in some kind of shady dockyard warehousing. She’d no difficulty seeing past his good looks and contrived charm to a hidden agenda.

      Poor naïve Sarah fell ears over toes for him and brought a sizable income to their marriage. When she died mysteriously, everything pointed to Falgate, yet he never faced charges. Selfish lords could murder their wives with impunity. Yet mere innuendo could ruin a woman’s life. C.C. curled her lips in disgust. The man needed a comeuppance, or at the very least, a good shot of guilt. Sarah deserved some kind of justice.

      She gazed around her room. Amelia, her cousin, now Lady Grancliffe, had given C.C. this chamber ten years before when she’d first arrived from New York. During those bleak days she’d passed her time naming things. The roses growing beneath her window had received special attention. She’d labeled the big red ones, Crimson Mortification; the small whites, Hoary Humiliation and the yellows, Cowardly Disgrace.

      Since then her cousin had redecorated. Now the walls and upholstery also blossomed in reds, whites and yellows. The room was lovely, but the ghosts of self-condemnation and shame didn’t easily submit to bright paint, new furniture or patched plaster. Such heavy emotions had probably long since fused to the very spine of the room. C.C. knew when she curled into a tight ball of loneliness and pain that only purple had the strength to endure the darkness.

      The night was ticking by. Clasping her mother’s tattered letter between her hands, she listened for sounds of servants or guests. I’m sorry I’m not there yet, Mama. But with Captain Tollier’s help, I will be soon. Her heart fluttered at the thought of him…and his kisses. Drat the man. He’d taken her by surprise at Cremorne. She was tired and a little tipsy, but one way or another, tonight she would get his agreement.

      Her lady’s maid had helped her change into her night rail. Over that, she donned a floor-length velvet cloak, preparing to leave. When finally satisfied everyone was abed and asleep, she placed the letter on the stand near her bed and slowly opened her door. Carrying a small lamp, she crept through long corridors to the almost unoccupied east wing. The blue apartments, she’d been told.

      C.C. stopped outside the suite’s door and tried to compose herself. Even though visiting Captain Tollier’s room was highly improper, at least it should be private. She didn’t want Falgate or anyone else interrupting this time.

      A faint squeak of metal echoed in the vast marble corridor. Quickly extinguishing the lamp, she glanced about the shadowed darkness. Icy rivulets raced down her spine. No one could know of this visit. She certainly didn’t want to cause a scandal under her cousin’s roof.

      Carefully turning the handle, she entered and closed the door behind her. A thin strip of light shined from under the bedroom door at the far end of the sitting room.

      She crept through the dark room and pressed her ear to the door. Silence. After wiping a sweaty palm on her cloak, she turned the knob. The heavy paneled door swung open.

      Bright moonlight streamed through the windows. Gaslight slanted through the doorway of the adjoining dressing room to a huge four-poster bed where Captain Tollier sprawled supine.

      She tiptoed closer. One half of a well-shaped leg dangled off the side. A single sheet covered the other leg and barely reached his lean waist. From there honey-blond hairs scattered in a ‘V’ all the way up to the ridges of muscle lining his chest.

      C.C. had never seen a man in such a state of undress. While she admired his raw beauty, something wicked and forbidden tingled inside.

      Slumber softened the vibrant charisma and shrewdness that animated his face. With his sun-kissed hair tousled all over his head he looked almost as young as his portrait. And she now realized his expressive brows were at least three shades darker—drawing two long, dramatic СКАЧАТЬ