Free A Lady Betrayed by Nicole Byrd

eyes seemed much too knowing.
    She had a sudden image of the two of them in bed, of Adrian pulling her gown over her head and seeing her naked once more.
    Maddie felt her cheeks burn; she couldn’t seem to stop blushing. “I’d better go back—that is—my father might think—I mean—I’d better—”
    Losing her nerve entirely, she turned and fled back toward the house.
    Once inside, she hurried up the staircase to her bedroom. She pulled paper and ink out of her bureau and curled up on her bed with a lap desk to write another letter. She’d sent the others out, but now she had pressing concerns to express.
    Her widowed sister Lauryn was the one who had been married first, perhaps she was the most promising person to ask.
    Maddie dipped her quill into the ink and wrote:
    Dear Sister,
    I know this will be an unexpected question, but many things in my situation have changed rapidly. In my last letter, I told you about the sad experience with my headache and how I was caught in the woods, and how the viscount tried to help…
    It was still hard to work up to the questions she wanted to ask. Maddie stopped and frowned at the ragged end of the quill. She dipped the nib into the ink and tried again.
    If we go through with the marriage, I fear I will not be…I don’t know if I will know enough…
    Oh, dear. She couldn’t even write out her anxious feelings. This didn’t bode well for her marriage night. If she couldn’t even speak about her worries to her trusted sister, how could she expect to face a husband whom she had acquired in such an unorthodox manner? And how could she hope to satisfy him as a good wife should?

    Felicity Barlow walked briskly down the lane, wishing for the hundredth time that the cottage she let was not quite so isolated. But she had got it for a paltry lease, and given her small income, that was essential. She was lucky to have found it at all. It was, mind you, drafty and cramped. Some daft artist chap, as the locals described him, had had it built. A wooden frame cottage with a thatched roof, it was much more practical for the south of England than cold, damp Yorkshire.
    When he had tired of it and returned south, it had remained empty for some time until she had arrived in the village. The rent was very cheap, and she had enough space for a small garden, so it suited her fine. Miss Applegate had been very generous about giving her extra eggs and milk from their animals as well, even though the Applegates had little extra to spare.
    She was lucky to have found a friend who was so generous of heart, Felicity thought, sighing as she stepped around a bramble bush that had grown across the path. It was not easy for a woman alone. The rest of the gentry were suspicious of her, as no one knew her well enough in the shire to vouch for her background.
    She brushed at her rusty, well-worn black skirts and shook them free of the other weeds that clung to them. No need to fret over things she could not change. It was a nice day, Miss Applegate was on the mend, and she herself had had a nice walk. She would have the last egg for tea and warm up the bit of soup that was left from the morning.
    A blur of movement caught her eye, and Felicity turned her head sharply. But nothing was there, except a sparrow, which, startled by her movement, took flight suddenly from the hedgerow. She was being silly, she told herself. She drew a deep breath and walked on. She would not panic; it was just such a lonely path. Her steps were quicker now, but she controlled herself and would not break into a run. One had to have some measure of dignity. Her cottage was just ahead, and she had locked the door—she always locked the door—and her ancient key was on her belt as it always was. She gripped the large copper key with its reassuring weight and kept moving.
    Trying not to look back over her shoulder, but unable to keep herself from taking one more quick