Free The Lady Chosen by Stephanie Laurens Page A

turned it.
    The bolt slid back. She opened the door just wide enough for her and Henrietta to squeeze through, then swung around to shut it. The wind gusted; she had to release Henrietta and use both hands to force the door closed—silently.
    She managed it. Heaving an inward sigh of relief, she turned.
    The front hall was shrouded in stygian gloom. She stood still as her eyes began to adjust, as the sense of emptiness—the strangeness of a remembered place stripped of all its furnishings—sank into her.
    She heard a faint click.
    Beside her, Henrietta abruptly sat, posture erect, a suppressed whimper, not of pain but excitement escaping her.
    Leonora stared at her.
    The air around her stirred.
    The hair on her nape lifted; her nerves leapt. Instinctively, she dragged in a breath—
    A hard palm clamped over her lips.
    A steely arm locked about her waist.
    Hauled her back against a body like sculpted rock.
    Strength engulfed her, trapping her, subduing her.
    Effortlessly.
    A dark head bent close.
    A voice in which fury was barely leashed hissed in her ear, “What the devil are you doing here?”
    *   *   *
    Tristan could barely believe his eyes.
    Despite the gloom, he could see hers, wide with shock. Could sense the leap and race of her pulse, the panic that gripped her.
    Knew absolutely that it was only partially due to surprise. Sensed his own response to that fact.
    Ruthlessly reined it in.
    Lifting his head, he scanned with his senses but could detect no other movement in the house. But he couldn’t talk to her, even in whispers, in the front hall; devoid of furnishings, its surfaces polished and clean, any sound would echo.
    Tightening his arm about her waist, he lifted her off her feet and carried her to the small parlor they’d set aside for interrogating females. Spared a moment to wonder at their farsightedness. He had to take his hand from her face to turn the knob, then they were inside, and he shut the door.
    He still had her in his arm, feet off the ground, her back locked to him.
    She wriggled, hissed, “Put me down!”
    He debated, in the end, grim-faced, complied. Speaking face-to-face would be easier; keeping her wriggling her derriere against him was senseless torture.
    The instant her feet touched the floor, she spun around.
    And collided with his finger, raised to point at her nose. “I didn’t tell you about the incident here so you could waltz in and put yourself in the middle of it!”
    Startled, she blinked; her eyes rose to his face. Quite stunned; she’d never had any man take such a tone with her. He seized the initiative. “I told you to leave this to me. ” He spoke in a deep but furious whisper, at a level that wouldn’t carry.
    Her eyes narrowed. “I recall what you said, but this person, whoever he is, is my problem.”
    “It’s my house he’s going to be breaking into. And anyway—”
    “Besides,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him, chin lifting but like him keeping her voice low, “you’re an earl. I naturally assumed you’d be out socializing.”
    The jab pricked his frustration. He spoke through his teeth. “I’m not an earl by choice, and I avoid socializing as much as I can. But that’s neither here nor there. You are a woman. A female. You have no purpose here. Especially given I’m here.”
    Her mouth fell open as he grabbed her elbow and spun her to face the door.
    “I’m not—!”
    “Keep your voice down.” He marched her forward. “And you most certainly are. I’m going to see you out of the front door, then you’re going straight home and staying there come what may!”
    She dug in her heels. “But what if he’s out there?”
    He halted, looked at her. Realized she was staring beyond the hall door toward the dark, tree-shrouded front garden. His thoughts followed hers.
    “Damn!” He released her, squelched a more explicit curse.
    She looked at him; he looked at her.
    He hadn’t checked the front door; the would-be intruder could