Free Tempting the Heiress by Barbara Pierce

just shook his head. He braced both hands against his side to buffer the punishment his laughter caused. “I would beg you to keep your voice down when you are making such comparisons.”
    “And why is that?” Milroy asked, a hint of a smile twitching his lips.
    “What woman cares to be compared to her brother? She almost tore an ear from my head the last time someone mentioned it!”
    As the man crossed his arms against his chest, his smile was not reassuring. “I’ll bear that in mind, Mr. Bedegrayne.”
    Descending the stairs an hour and a half later than her usual time, Amara stifled a yawn. The late hours of town were never agreeable with her constitution. With her maid’s assistance, she had donned a long-sleeved white muslin gown decorated with sprigs of blue forget-me-nots and heelless white kid shoes with blue bows. Corry had braided her shoulder-length tresses, neatly tucking them in to a fanciful lace cap adorned with blue flowers and beading.
    She headed for the morning room, expecting she would be enjoying her tea and toast in solitude. It was rare for
the family to break fast together. The late hours of town only encouraged individual schedules. If her mother or father required her attention, they would simply summon her. Recalling her mother’s lecture last evening, Amara had every intention of spending the afternoon out of the house.
    “A moment, Miss Claeg.” Buckle, the butler, approached. He had traded his dark coat for a full-length apron. The dusty smudge on his left shoulder and the red leather notebook in his hand hinted that he had spent that past hour down in the cellar.
    “Good morning, Buckle. Has Lady Keyworth arisen?”
    “No, Miss Claeg.” He opened his notebook and retrieved a sealed letter. “A boy delivered it early this morning. Two other deliveries were made in the past two hours.”
    Accepting the letter, she puzzled over the nondescript seal. “Really? From whom?”
    “Can’t say, miss. Shall I bring them to the morning room?”
    “Yes, that will be fine,” she said, distracted by the letter. Brock Bedegrayne’s daring was boundless. He was breaking all their unspoken rules. Unable to resist, she broke the seal. The note was terse as well as enigmatic.
    “Forget not the past.”
    It was unsigned. “So typical of a Bedegrayne,” she muttered, folding and tucking the note into her bodice. She preferred to avoid explanations to her family until she had gained a few of them for herself.
    Amara had barely settled down with her tea when Buckle entered, carrying two packages.
    “Lord Keyworth has requested your presence when you have finished your repast, Miss Claeg.”

    “Thank you, Buckle.” Excitement blossomed within her as she picked up a knife and sawed through the cord. Another two weeks would pass before it was her twenty-second birthday. It was too early for someone to be sending her gifts.
    Removing the cerecloth covering, she peered inside. In wonderment, she removed an opaque glass bowl containing a bouquet of marzipan flowers. She delicately touched an unfurling petal of a red camellia. “It almost looks real. The confectioner is a master artist.”
    The butler discreetly cleared his throat. “Miss Claeg, shall I summon a footman for your reply?”
    The question brought her head up. “What? Oh, no, I will send for one later. You can tell my father I will attend him shortly.”
    She waited until the servant had departed before she reached for the card. “‘For my incomparable bloom,’” she read aloud. The writing was different from that of the other note. There was no signature. “Well, my mysterious benefactor, I cannot fault your taste.”
    Amara set the bowl on to the table. Taking a sip of her cooling tea, she slid her fingers across the surface of coarse green baize used to wrap the other box. It was a large rectangular box with a depth no more than four inches. Putting her tea down, she seized the knife and efficiently cut through the