Free Frovtunes’ Kiss by Lisa Manuel Page B

her apron in her fists.
    Would he never escape the unearned infamy of his past? Who was this woman to come into his home—albeit, it was once hers—rifle through his belongings, and hurl accusations at him? They shared no blood relation, yet here she was, denouncing his character as blithely as the rest of his faithless family.
    â€œMiss Hughes, I still haven’t an inkling why you’re here or why you abhor me, other than the kiss, and in truth, I don’t believe you found it all that loathsome.” Her mouth opened on a retort that he spoke over. “Whatever you may have heard to the contrary, I am not without scruples and feel no need to apologize for how I’ve lived my life thus far. At least no more so than any other ordinary mortal.”
    She dropped the hem of her apron; no, she flung it from her hands. “No need to apologize?”
    â€œNone.”
    â€œNot even for dishonoring the memory of my affianced by making ill-mannered advances toward me?”
    Her fiancé, Nigel Foster—how could he have forgotten? He supposed he wanted to forget, even now, especially now, with the sweet taste of her lips lingering on his. She was right. His lapse in memory showed a distinct want of respect. “Forgive me, Miss Hughes. I am indeed sorry for your loss. I didn’t know Nigel well, but I certainly thought highly of him.”
    Not entirely true. On the few occasions they’d met, Nigel had treated Graham with outward friendliness. Yet he’d always detected an undercurrent of condescension, a haughty awareness on his cousin’s part that while Nigel constituted the shining fruit of the family tree, Graham’s hold was several branches lower.
    Moira didn’t look appeased. “What about forcing an elderly widow from her home of twenty years—” She stopped and gulped for breath. “Mere weeks after her beloved husband’s death?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou heard me. Why must my mother live in a ramshackle cottage when Monteith Hall stands empty?”
    â€œRamshackle? Forced out? Not by me, Miss Hughes.”
    â€œMost certainly by you, Mr. Foster. I’ve a certified letter to prove it.”
    Anger rose at a suspicion suddenly confirmed. Why, that family of his… He tamped the thought, for the time being. He’d deal with his mother and Letty later. “Miss Hughes, I think you had better slow down and tell me exactly what it is you were searching for.”
    â€œA codicil to my stepfather’s will.” Her nostrils flared. “Do you deny knowing of its existence?”
    â€œA codicil declaring what? From what I understand, the inheritance was straightforward and unalterable.”
    She skewed up her lips on a rebuttal, which was interrupted by a knock at the door.
    â€œDamn.” Not now, not when he finally had Moira Hughes talking. He sighed. “Come in.”
    Flushed and out of breath, Shaun strode into the room, then held the door for an elderly gentleman who shuffled in as if each step caused him pain. He was stoop-shouldered, in need of a haircut, and his shabby frock coat was missing a button. Yet for all his physical shortcomings, the man met Graham’s appraisal with an air of confidence, even authority.
    â€œThe Honorable Mr. Herbert Doone,” Shaun announced.
    Irritation prickled Graham’s neck. “I told you a magistrate wasn’t necessary.”
    Doone regarded Moira from beneath his tightly drawn eyebrows. “Is this the offender?”
    â€œIndeed, Your Honor.” Letty entered with an imperious rustle of petticoats, a bounce of curls. “Arrest her at once.”
    â€œThat won’t be necessary.” Grasping Letty’s hand, Graham gently but resolutely drew her to stand beside the desk, out of the way. Moira’s pretty chin swung from one person to the next while her dark eyes grew large with worry. He caught her gaze and tried to convey an assurance