Free With This Kiss by Victoria Lynne Page A

merchant seaman.”
    “Yes.”
    “Then we have something in common. My ancestors earned their living by the sea as well.”
    “Oh?”
    “They were pirates. Quite successful ones at that.” Her shock must have shown on her face, for a small smile curved his lips as he said, “You didn’t believe my family came by all this wealth honorably, did you?”
    In truth, she hadn’t considered his wealth at all. What surprised her was his bald admission of its source. Most men in his position would have taken great pains to hide that. Assuming a light, teasing tone, she said as much.
    Although his smile didn’t fade, an icy chill returned to his gray eyes. “Yes. I do have my reputation to protect, don’t I?” He turned away before she could reply, fixing his gaze on the heavy iron gates to his estate as they groaned open. “It appears your family has decided to join us at last. Shall we go and greet them?”
    Julia watched the carriage swing up the drive. At that moment she experienced an emotion she had never in her life dreamed possible.
    She was actually happy to see her Uncle Cyrus.
    Moonlight drifted in through the broad windows of Julia’s bedroom, casting silvery shadows over the apple green silk of her bedspread and curtains. Like every other room in the house, the decor was impeccable, from the Aubusson carpets that covered the floor to the collection of fine porcelain vases that sat atop a corner dresser. Still, a slight frown touched her lips as she surveyed the room, for it was startlingly devoid of any semblance of warmth. She had felt much the same way when the housekeeper had shown her through the remainder of the estate earlier that afternoon. Expensive. Immaculate. Profoundly empty.
    She let out a sigh and glanced about her bedchamber, looking for something to occupy her thoughts. A stack of books had been thoughtfully placed on the nightstand beside her bed, but she was too restless to read. The delicate corner desk was well stocked with exquisite linen parchment and pen and ink, but there was no one to whom she wanted to write. She had even discovered a deck of playing cards, but she was not in the mood for that frivolous pastime.
    On the southern wall was a set of narrow doors that opened onto a small balcony. Julia moved toward them and stepped outside, hoping to catch a breeze. The heat of the day had faded only slightly. A heavy, sticky warmth still clung to the air, impervious to the night. She ran her hand along the balcony rail, considering the day’s events. She was married and therefore removed from her uncle’s authority. The wedding breakfast had passed tolerably well. The home in which she was to live was lovely.
    All things considered, she should have been quite happy. But she couldn’t shake the subtle, clinging discontent that hung over her. Shortly after her family had departed, Morgan had disappeared into his study and she had not seen him since. He had not even appeared at supper, leaving her to dine alone at a table that could easily accommodate twenty.
    She was, she realized, profoundly lonely. She missed her parents, she missed her home, she missed her two Yorkshire terriers, she missed… her life. Her fingers moved automatically to the gold medallion she wore around her neck. Saint Rita. Patron saint of the impossible. But she could not think of a single prayer or wish that would do her any good at the moment.
    Suddenly disgusted with her own misery, she brought up her chin as steel resolve coursed through her. Tomorrow would be better, she vowed. Tomorrow she would—
    A soft, insistent knocking at her door interrupted her thoughts. Frowning slightly at the late hour, she padded in bare feet across the room and pulled open the door.
    Morgan.
    A startled gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it. She had not expected to see him until tomorrow morning — if then. Her gaze moved briefly over his form. With the exception of loosening his cravat, he was dressed in the same