Free The Bad Baron's Daughter by Laura London Page B

widened with incredulous delight as Katie,
en deshabille
, came spilling into his grandmother’s parlor. I’d like to have you for dinner, you luscious creature, he thought, and strolled forward to say quite kindly, “May I help you with something, my dear?”
    “Oh, yes, please,” whispered Katie apprehensively. “May I talk to Lord Linden?”
    Linden, thought the young man. It would be. He turned to see Lord Linden striding through the crowd toward them and watched with frankly envious appreciation as Katie flung herself at Linden and clutched desperately at his tailored lapels.
    “Lord Linden,” gasped Katie, “a man came into your bedroom. He had a knife! Really! And that man thinks I stole his horse, but I didn’t. And I think that I’ve lost the key to your house because I don’t have it in my hand anymore. Is that your grandmother? I think she is very, very angry with me and I don’t want to be here at all. I’m so unhappy. Please, please help me.”
    The tale of how Lord Linden’s latest
chère amie
had gate-crashed one of Her Grace Lady Brixton, the Duchess of Hounslow’s most select
soirees
was to spread like freed fire through the all-male echelon of London’s finest clubs the next morning. And the story lost nothing in the telling, for those gentlemen fortunate enough to have been present at Lady Brixton’s could not decide to whom they should award top honors; the dazzling titian-haired nymph who had so enlivened Lady Brixton’s otherwise dull party, or Lord Linden, for what General Clappington had admiringly described as “the boy’s deuced cool head under fire.” Lord Linden had calmly disentangled Katie’s fingers from his chocolate brown evening coat, grabbed the lacy tablecloth from a nearby supper table and, to the disgust of the other gentlemen present, wrapped it around Katie’s too ravishing figure. Then, with charming aplomb, he had made a graceful bow to his hostess, thanked her for a most pleasant evening, assured her that he was her most obedient servant and made his exit, shoving Katie in front of him with a little more force than might have been strictly necessary.

Chapter Six
    Lord Linden, attempting to remove Katie from his grandmother’s austere residence, found himself having to run a gauntlet of indignant persons, from the disapproving doorman to the wrathful owner of the Arabian mare, all of whom seemed to feel that Katie should be conveyed, without delay, to the nearest jail and there incarcerated until such time as hell grew icecaps. Katie made a valiant, though muddled attempt to defend herself to these critics, which was cut short by Lord Linden, who told her tersely to shut her mouth if she knew what was good for her and bundled her urgently into the nearest hackney, warning her to wait for him there. It was some minutes later that Linden climbed in the hack, slammed the door behind him and lowered himself to the seat opposite Katie. The carriage shuddered and pulled forward.
    “Talk,” said Lord Linden, “and it had better be good.”
    Katie cleared her throat, convinced more than ever that she should have taken her chances with The Knife. “Lord Linden,” she began, “I am so…”
    “Katie. My dear child,” said Lord Linden, slowly.
    “Do
not
tell me you’re sorry or I will shake you until your teeth rattle.”
    Katie plucked at the tablecloth tucked about her knee. “Did that man believe that I wasn’t trying to steal his horse, only borrow it?”
    “The gentleman didn’t appear to appreciate the distinction. However, he’s agreed not to press charges. Now, tell me about the man who came into my bedroom with a knife.”
    Katie described everything; the persistent knock, the masked figure on the balcony and the hoarse whisper behind the door.
    Lord Linden frowned. “Are you sure it was ‘Katie’ you heard? It couldn’t have been anything else?”
    “I’m sure. Do you think I should have stayed? I’m afraid that the hooded man may have