Free The Bishop's Daughter by Susan Carroll Page A

good, my lord," and then the muffled sound of the door closing again.
    Harry emerged from beneath the pillow, believing he had heard the last of the incident. He had just succeeded in recapturing his drowsy state, embarking upon another delicious dream of Kate, when the chamber door slammed open again, this time accompanied by the sound of bickering voices, the stentorian tones of his butler and the militant accent of some unknown female.
    "My lady, I beg you. His lordship does not receive callers—"
    "Stand out of my way, you gibbering fool."
    "My lady, this is most unseemly."
    "Idiot. I am old enough to be his grandmother."
     "But my lady," Grayshaw implored. "Think of your own reputation."
    "At my time of life," came the tart reply, "if there be any who think scandal of my being in a young man's bedchamber, the more fool they."
    Harry had the feeling that Grayshaw was getting the worst of this exchange, a notion that was reinforced when he detected the rustle of skirts advancing upon the bed. The next Harry knew his bedcurtains were wrenched open. He winced at the sudden flaring of light.
    "My lady!" He heard Grayshaw huff.
    Harry struggled to a sitting position, flinging one hand across his eyes. "Grayshaw. What the deuce!"
    "My lord. I tried to keep her out," Grayshaw moaned. "But it was impossible short of offering her ladyship bodily harm."
    "It would have been worse for you, my man, if you had tried it." The apparition standing over Harry's bed pounded a cane against the floor. Harry's dazed eyes took in the figure of a most regal lady with a countenance stern enough to have daunted the entire French line.
    "Off with you, sirrah," this strange woman commanded Grayshaw. "Fetch Lord Lytton his breakfast."
    Grayshaw glanced at Harry, clearly appealing for his intervention. Harry shoved back the strands of hair tumbling into his eyes, trying to convince himself that he was awake and not strayed into the midst of some mad nightmare.
    "Begging your pardon, madam," he said, "but I think you must be in the wrong house. I don't believe I have had the pleasure—"
    "I am Lady Dane," the woman rapped out.
    Harry, who slept in the state nature intended, dragged the counterpane higher across the dark hairs matting his bared chest. "I trust your ladyship will forgive me if I don't make you my leg, but—"
    "Impertinent rogue! I am Kathryn's grandmother."
    Harry's jaw dropped open. Kate's grandma? Oh, Lord! The reason for this rather unorthodox morning call became abundantly clear to him. His gaze skated uneasily to the rigid form of his butler.
    "Perhaps you had better go, Grayshaw."
    "Very good, my lord," Grayshaw said at his most wooden. It was his pride that under his reign as butler, no unbidden guest had ever been permitted to enter the house, let alone the master's bedchamber. With a crestfallen air, he retired from the field.
    Harry's attention swept back to the woman who had bested his indomitable butler. Lady Dane's stance was unyielding as iron, and Harry took to the defensive.
    "I don't know all that Kate might have told you about yesterday. I expect you have every right to be angry with me, but I don't intend to apologize for that kiss. It was the first time I have ever been that bold with Kate and—"
    "Hold a moment, sir." The first hint of amusement crossed Lady Dane's stern features. "You don't know Kate very well if you imagine she came tale-bearing to me. The girl didn't get all that color in her face just from the sun. But if you think that I am here to scold you, my lord, you are far off the mark."
    "Then why are you here?" Harry asked.
    "I shall tell you when you are more suitably attired to receive a lady."
    Turning away from him, she stalked down the length of the room, flinging back over her shoulder, "And don't dawdle."
    Harry stared after her a moment in a dumbfounded silence. But curiosity soon roused him to action. Obviously Lady Dane hadn't come to rip up at him over some fancied insult toward Kate. So