Free Heather and Velvet by Teresa Medeiros

crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes. I supposed he would.”
    “Prudence was her father’s assistant,” Sir Arlo said, almost proudly.
    “Scandalous task for a young girl.” Tricia dabbed her nose with a perfumed handkerchief at the memory. “Whenever I’d visit, there the poor little creature would be—her clothes reeking of sulfur, her face streaked with charcoal.”
    “Graphite,” Prudence corrected her aunt gently.
    “Oh, pooh!” Tricia said. “Enough talk of such silliness over supper. Livingston’s ridiculous experiments got him nowhere but blown to kingdom come in front of the Royal Society and half of London. I’ve never been so mortified.”
    Squire Blake waved his fork. “He shouldn’t have poured that hooker of brandy into the mercury. Such a waste of fine brandy!”
    Tricia nodded. “All his hopes of obtaining an honorary peerage from the King came to naught. Why, all we could find to bury of him were his shoe buckles and wig! Knowing how addlepated he was, he probably wasn’t even wearing them. It was sheer good fortune that he sent Prudence back to their lodgings for his spectacles or we’d have found nothing of her but her hairpins.”
    A sick feeling blossomed in the pit of Sebastian’s stomach. “Fortunate indeed,” he murmured.
    He studied Prudence to see what effect Tricia’s callous speech might have on her. The hue of her skin was so delicate, he would have judged further paling impossible. He was wrong.
    She pushed herself back from the table. Even against the stark white of the tablecloth, her knuckles looked pinched and pale. “I seem to be taking a headache. If you’ll be kindenough to excuse me from dessert, I shall retire to my room.”
    She didn’t wait to hear Tricia’s objections. She fled the dining room, nearly colliding with a plump maid bearing a silver tray of cherries doused in flaming brandy.
    The maid steadied the tray, rolling her eyes as Prudence disappeared. “Good Lord, Lady Tricia, that girl’ll be the death of us all one day.”
    Sebastian waited for Tricia to defend her niece and upbraid the servant for her familiarity.
    Instead, Tricia’s lips curved in a feline smile. “Come, Squire Blake, put out that fire, won’t you? Cherries are your favorites. I only hope Sebastian likes them half so well.”
    Tricia’s hand stroked his thigh beneath the shield of the tablecloth. Sebastian hardly noticed as his gaze drifted back to the half-eaten herring and empty dessert plate on the other side of the table.
    He stood abruptly, spilling his napkin to the floor. “If you’ll excuse me, dear, I must tend to my coachman’s …” The rest of his excuse was lost in a mumble as he strode from the dining room, bumping into the plump maid hard enough to send her teetering.
    The corridor was empty. Sebastian lengthened his strides, his cane never touching the floor. The sleek marble tiles of the entranceway seemed to stretch forever. At last he saw her, a slight figure, head bent, hand poised on the banister as she started up the stairs. The grace of a thief served Sebastian well. His hand closed over her wrist before she ever heard his footfalls.
    She spun around on the step above him, her eyes dark and stricken behind the fragile glass. His hard grip softened. His thumb rubbed lightly over the tripping pulse in her wrist.
    There was so much he longed to tell her, so much he needed to say. But at the same moment, they both became aware of Old Fish behind them, puttering around the potted orange tree with a watering can.
    The brittle eloquence Sebastian had perfected in London failed him, leaving him as awkward and graceless as aschoolboy. “Your father, Miss Walker … I’m terribly sorry.”
    “It was a long time ago.” Her hand clenched into a fist, but she did not pull away.
    Sebastian wondered how much anger she hid beneath her cool veneer. He should warn her of the cost. He had bit back his own anger for years, rolling dutifully beneath every