Free Perilous Risk by Natasha Blackthorne Page A

ironclad proof.”
    “The Earl of Ruel would question it.”
    “Not without proof.”
    Stephen was correct about that. Jon could be volatile but he also knew how to control himself in order to attain a goal. And according to his countess, he felt that Saxby deserved whatever consequences he reaped from wedding a she-wolf like Maria. She rolled her shoulders. “Perhaps Maria wants to shield herself from public speculation.”
    “She’s a disgraced woman and well used to public condemnation. And she now has the power of rank and greater wealth. Likely she doesn’t give a d—” He reached over and placed his hand over hers. “Rebecca, tell me what she really wants.”
    Rebecca tried to tell him but her tongue seemed to grow heavy. He was very kind to try to help her. But she must placate or insult him, whatever it took to get him to cease. And then, when he had left her, she would write a note to send to Jon. She schooled her expression to be frosty. “She wants to place the blame for her husband’s untimely death on me.”

    Stephen stared at Rebecca. He studied every aspect of her visage. Those eyes of the most pastel blue possible. The small, straight nose. A little mouth but well-shaped, the lips thin but not too thin and pink as a peony. The chin softly rounded but not weak. Alabaster skin with a faint blush over the cheeks.
    From inside the plain black carriage, across the street from Seymour House he had witnessed her flight. Had watched her hair fall from its pins. Now it lay about her shoulders in a spill of slightly curling, finely-textured light brown tresses interspersed with threads that glinted in the warm yellow glow from the chandeliers shining in the open top of the antechamber. These highlights appeared to be of an even more gossamer texture, their colour a variance in shade from deep to palest gold.
    She had always reminded Stephen of his mother’s most prized possession, a set of teacups, with roses painted so delicately upon the fine china that it had appeared to be a watercolour.
    That was what Rebecca’s beauty was like. Understated. Refined.
    And just as precious and priceless to him.
    Her voice still echoed in his ears, gentle and warm.
    She was lying.
    Damn it all anyway. She was lying to protect Jonathon Lloyd. The man who had thrown her aside in favour of his younger, wealthy countess.
    What a fool Stephen had been to think Rebecca would accept his help. Pride had kept him from contacting her all these weeks he’d been back in England. The sense that she would respond to him in this off-putting manner. He should just leave her now.
    But he couldn’t. She was in trouble and she desperately needed his aid.
    He would die to protect Rebecca.
    Well, it wouldn’t do to appear over-eager, would it? If he wasn’t careful he would reveal the depth of his feelings for her. And frighten her away. He couldn’t make a muss of things. She didn’t understand the situation she’d so unknowingly traipsed into. But he did. He couldn’t reveal all to her. He certainly couldn’t reveal that he’d been spying on her as she’d come and gone from Saxby’s house. That would unnerve her and make her suspicious about him.
    But he must impress upon her the urgency of the matter at hand. “ You think the Earl of Ruel will be able to help you better?”
    “ With something like this, yes, I do.”
    “ He doesn’t have my connections, Rebecca. He can’t protect you as well as I could.”
    Her mouth dropped open. “I can’t believe you would do this.”
    “Do what?”
    “You men.” Her tone was light, almost teasing. But her smile was belied by the wintry glint in her eyes. “You are unbelievably callous.”
    “Pardon me?”
    “Gentlemen will say anything.” She looked away, her expression and tone sharpening. “You men will do anything when you are set to get up a woman’s skirts.”
    What could he say? He’d dearly love to get up her skirts. He’d thought of nothing for the past few years