Free My Only Love by Katherine Sutcliffe Page A

still
had her glasses.
    The
surly housemaid jumped aside as Olivia left the room, only realizing after
she'd walked a far distance that she was headed the wrong direction. With a
silent groan of frustration, she turned back to discover Warwick at the top of
the stairs, glasses suspended from his little finger. Insufferable buffoon.
    "So
tell me," he said as she rejoined him. "Are you angry because I said
you look better without these?" He made a face at the spectacles. "Or
because I asked you about the boy's father? I don't think it's because I kissed
you since you apparently enjoyed it. Or could it be . . ." His voice lowered
and his features took on a serious look. "You were thinking of him when I
kissed you."
    "Don't
be daft." She made a quick grab for the glasses. As quickly he snatched
them away.
    With
a lift of her chin, Olivia turned down the stairs. "Very well," she said
with a gladiatorial air. "You can keep the bloody things for all I
care."
    Miles
reached the bottom of the stairs before her and stood blocking her way. He
looked like a pirate with his clothes so carelessly worn and his dark hair
windblown and still damp from his ride through the rain. There was a mood of
recklessness about him, a wildness that flashed in his eyes and momentarily
left her disturbingly mesmerized. She realized despairingly that if he
attempted to kiss her again she would probably let him.
    "Don't
go," he finally said. "I'll have Sally cook up a mix of
something—"
    "We
ain't got nothin' to mix," came the tart reply from up the stairs.
    "So
we'll have bread and water."
    "I—I
think not, considering the circumstances."
    "If
you're meaning the kiss, not to worry. It didn't mean anything. Unless you want
it to."
    "And
what is that supposed to mean?"
    He
shrugged. "You're welcome to stay the night, if you're so disposed."
    "Sir,
are you implying what I think you are?" Her eyes widened as he grinned.
    Her
attempt to dart around him was impaired as he threw out his arm, blocking her
path like a barrier. "Very well," he said, as she turned her eyes
full of mounting irritation and distress on him. His face was very near hers.
The light from the candelabra made his hair shine like copper. "I
acquiesce, Miss Devonshire," he continued quietly, and without emotion.
"I confess to allowing my selfishness to get the better of me. Before you
arrived I was caught in the doldrums; perhaps feeling much too sorryfor myself.
This isn't the Braithwaite I ached for with my every fiber. I suppose the old
adage is true: one must be careful what one wishes for."
    "Perhaps
it wasn't, or isn't, the house that you've always wanted," she replied.
    He
made no comment and Olivia was aware of a queer sense of electricity that
hummed in the air. His expression was both perplexed and angry.
    "I
fear I've kept you overly long, Miss Devonshire. May I bid you good
night?"
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Love has been compared
to debt: both
    keep their captives awake
at night,
     and in a perpetual
state of unrest
     during the day.
     —Frederick Saunders
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
     
    The
morning dawned wet and cold and gray with fog. It had snowed during the night;
long ice crystals clung to the scattering of trees around Devonswick, causing
their heavy bare branches to appear like enchanted weeping willows.
    Olivia
awoke with an enormous headache. She'd slept little. She relived her hours with
Miles Warwick, her dreams changing their encounter into strange variations. At
half past four she finally rolled out of bed and proceeded to the kitchen
where the tweeny made her a strong hot pot of tea and located a plate of
leftover scones. Olivia ate every one as she sat before the hearth and mentally
castigated herself for journeying to Braithwaite to confront Warwick.
    Silly,
idiotic ninny. She'd done many a foolish thing in her life, but none she so
adamantly wished she could take back. No doubt he'd spent the entirety of the
night laughing at her; imagine his coming