Free All for You by Lynn Kurland Page A

the sleet that had begun a renewed assault on her was going to be moving past anytime soon, then jumped a little at the sight of lights coming up the road behind her.
    Great. It was one thing to sneak in the kitchen door and makea dash for her room where she could lock the door, shower, then pull herself together before she made her grand entrance down the main staircase. It was another thing entirely to be seen in her bedraggled state by a party guest with a potentially very big mouth. She looked around herself quickly to see if there might be somewhere to hide, but unfortunately all that surrounded her were foggy acres of manicured grounds.
    Dotted by topiaries, as it happened. Well, there was obviously only one thing to do, and she did it without hesitation. She leaped off the road and well into the verge, plopped her suitcase down flat on the soggy ground, then hopped up on it and struck a pose. It was foggy enough, surely, that she would just look like a toga-draped goddess atop a pedestal, shrouded by mystery and a few bird droppings.
    She remained motionless as the car came closer. It wouldn’t have been an exaggeration to say she prayed with great fervor that the owner of that automobile would be so overwhelmed by the sight of Kenneworth House rising up majestically in the distance that he would simply drive on and not be looking over onto the right of the road.
    Alas, things were just not going her way.
    Her mother would have told her it was karma dealing out just deserts for having traded her hummus and sprouts sandwiches to unsuspecting fifth graders for Twinkies and Ding Dongs. Peaches probably would have told any number of her clients the same thing.
    But having karma gunning for her was another thing entirely.
    The car slowed to stop. Peaches left her hands outstretched in a goddessy pose in hopes the driver would simply think he or she was seeing things and move right along.
    The driver’s side window began a slow, agonizing descent into its allotted space in the door. Peaches fully expected to see David, the Duke of Kenneworth, frowning thoughtfully at a statue none of his ancestors had put there.
    Instead, the driver was revealed to be none other than Stephen de Piaget, vexer of innocent life organizers and chief tormenter of poor, helpless Yanks who were currently freezing their statuary off just north of the Yorkshire moors.
    He frowned thoughtfully for a moment or two, then rolled his window back up.
    Typical.
    Peaches could hardly wait to see his taillights, but it occurred to her that if she did, that would mean that he was driving up the way to the manor, which meant he was going to be in the same space with her for the weekend.
    Well, at least she wouldn’t have to see him in the immediate future—
    Or, maybe she would.
    He had put on his flashers and gotten out of the car. She wanted to warn him that he was going to ruin his lovely dress shoes by tromping around in the slush, but she could only stand there, her arms outstretched and her mouth gaping open, as he walked across the greensward toward her.
    And then he looked her straight in the eye.
    She credited her breathlessness to the chill. Yes, that was it. It had nothing to do with his amazingly lovely eyes, or that face that had no doubt launched a thousand girlish fantasies, or the fact that he had just gently taken her hands and put her arms down. He took her elbow and helped her down off her suitcase. She went, because she was still coherent enough to realize that she wasn’t doing her wardrobe any favors by standing on it.
    She wrapped her arms around herself, because it seemed like the right thing to do. But when Stephen reached for her suitcase, she felt herself thawing enough to speak.
    “What are you doing?” she croaked.
    He didn’t say anything, as usual. He simply carried her suitcase back to his car.
    “But—” She pulled herself together and tromped through the slush after him. “I need that.”
    He ignored her, which was