Free Rebel Baron by Shirl Henke Page B

Your work is lovely,” Miranda pronounced, encouraging Lori with a smile. “She took a red ribbon at the West End art fair only last month.”
           “What subjects do you favor?” he asked dutifully. This is going to be a long afternoon. He eyed the leaden scones and pallid watercress sandwiches and could already feel their sticky mass congealing in his stomach. Often, while riding through the night on raids with Colonel Morgan, he'd have given a silver dollar for any morsel of food. The irony of his situation now did not escape him.
           In response to his polite inquiry, Lorilee set her teacup aside and replied, “I've always preferred to paint animals. My most recent was of Calico's new litter.”
           “Calico?” he echoed.
           “Yes, our mother cat. She has six of the most playful kittens you could ever imagine. I dote upon them.”
           Her eyes sparkled with more animation than he'd seen yet. Unfortunately, it was over cats. “Have you ever painted horses?”
           “Why, yes, I have.” Lori warmed to her topic, a safe subject with which she was familiar. “I've done several of our carriage horses—one pulling my new Victoria and my favorite of all, Taffy, my mare.”
           “You ride?” Brand took heart.
           “Oh, yes. My friends and I take a turn in Hyde Park most days, weather permitting, of course.”
           “Tell me about your mare,” Brand encouraged.
           Lori was only too happy to oblige, going on about the pretty little buttermilk-colored filly and how much she loved feeding her sugar lumps and apples. Miranda sat back, quietly observing the interchange with satisfaction. The baron seemed to know how to draw out a shy young woman like Lori. She recalled from the dossier on him that he had a younger sister around Lori's age, but nothing was noted regarding the young woman's current status. Miranda assumed Barbara had been wed before the misfortunes of war befell the Caruthers family.
           Just as she was congratulating herself on how swimmingly well their first meeting was progressing, a movement at the corner of her eye distracted her. The heavy oak door of the parlor was opening a small bit. A minuscule squeak accompanied it, and Miranda made a mental note to have the downstairs maid oil the blasted thing.
           Then all hell broke loose.
           Six balls of orange, black and white fur flew into the room and launched themselves at various pieces of the furnishings. One raced for the pulled-back velvet draperies while its companion swatted at the sheer curtains across the window, then both began scrambling up them in a race to reach the cornice at the top.
           A third batted at the tassel of the bell pull, while two others sank their little claws into delicate brocade upholstery to reach their goal—the tea service on the table in front of the settee. After a quick dive, one stood drenched in cream from the overturned silver pitcher, while the other attacked the edge of a scone with sharp little teeth.
           The last one deliberately climbed the ottoman beside Brand's chair and used it as a springboard into his lap. While he remained frozen in amazement, the multicolored bit of fluff sank its tiny needlelike claws into places never even whispered about in polite society. He could hardly get out a decent yelp of protest before it was climbing his chest.
           Two pairs of gold eyes stared raptly at one another—the kitten's round with curiosity, Brand's round with sheer horror. Within a heartbeat, the second kitten bounded from the tea service up his chest.
           Miranda scooped up the kitten on the bell pull with one hand, saying, “You've saved me from summoning the tweenie who was so negligent as to let you escape from the kitchen.”
           She'd no more than uttered the words when said servant dashed contritely into the room, undecided