Free Never Kiss a Rake by Anne Stuart Page B

about taking me on. He did threaten to move out if she didn’t capitulate, but that was simply a joke. I can’t imagine a man turning his back on her.” For somereason she found that thought intensely depressing. She should be used to it by now.
    Her mother had made it clear—the only value a woman had was her beauty. Once Bryony had lost hers at age twelve she became worthless in her mother’s eyes, a useless appendage to a wealthy family. Her mother had forced any number of cosmetic treatments on her, from cold buttermilk compresses to steam baths, but nothing helped. The cosmetics her mother had insisted upon cracked the first time Bryony had laughed, and her mother had slapped her, the brittle stuff crumbling beneath her hand.
    She could still remember her mother’s words. “You may find this amusing but I don’t. You’re a leper, and you’re doing nothing to improve things. You’ll have no choice but to stay hidden away like some mad relative, out of sight and out of mind. People won’t be able to bear the sight of you.”
    “Because you can’t bear the sight of me,” she’d responded.
    Her mother didn’t waste time denying it. “There’s a new doctor in Basil—”
    “No more treatments,” Bryony had said sharply. “The scars aren’t going away, Mama.” She looked into her mother’s beautiful face, the face she’d passed on to her three daughters, looking for any sign of love or affection. All she saw was thinly veiled disgust.
    She reached up and pushed the crumbling makeup off her face, and it dusted the plain, slightly oversize dress she wore. “I suppose I’m simply going to be the madwoman in your attic, Mama.”
    She’d embraced that role with enthusiasm, locking herself in her rooms, refusing to come out despite her sisters’ blandishments, despite her father’s pleas. She’d sat and stared at her reflection in the mirror, until something inside of her broke, and she took up her fire poker and smashed every mirror in the room. She had been sixteen at the time.
    There had been three mirrors. Twenty-one years of bad luck, Bryony mused, and she’d barely made it through the first twelve.
    They’d reached the library door, and she lifted her hand to knock sharply when she heard Collins’s swift intake of breath. “What is it?” she whispered as alarm spread through her.
    Mr. Collins cleared his throat. “I think perhaps this isn’t a wise idea. His lordship is clearly—”
    “Clearly what? You can’t see beyond a closed door,” she hissed.
    “I have a particularly strong sense of smell.”
    She looked at him in frustration. “And what do you smell?”
    “Anise. Fennel. Flames. Burning sugar.”
    “Good God,” Bryony said. “He must have thrown something into the fire…” Her voice trailed off, as she realized on such a warm evening no fire had been laid in the library. “More reason for us to intervene.” And before Collins could stop her she rapped sharply on the door, then pushed it open.
    Just as the Earl of Kilmartyn ordered her to go away. She paid no attention, trying to take the heavy tray from Collins’s strong hands, but the man simply shrugged, entering the room and setting it down carefully on the desk where Kilmartyn sat. He had a tall glass in front of him, filled with an odd, milky-looking mixture that was slowly turning green.
    “Mrs. Harkins has prepared a marvelous dinner for you, Lord Kilmartyn, and I know you would never think of offending her by ignoring her efforts.”
    He just looked at her, his face impassive. Then he turned to Collins. “If you ever barge into my library again I’ll throw you out the window,” he said in a deceptively charming voice.
    “Yes, my lord,” Collins said meekly, not missing the menace beneath that tone. He started to back out, then paused, as he realized Bryony hadn’t moved from her place beside the earl’s desk.
    “You may go, Collins,” she said calmly. “There’s no need to protect me from his