Read Online A Bride by Moonlight by Liz Carlyle - Free Book Online Page A

strongly to cast him off. After all, you cannot really account him family.”
    “No,” said Elizabeth, unable to hold his gaze, “perhaps not.”
    “Indeed not!” said Bodkins. “And now you’re to be driven from your home by this scandal of his making. I know, my dear, that is why you are so intent on leaving.”
    Her home.
    Yes, hers . Though she’d come here alone and still grief-stricken, Elizabeth had nonetheless found a measure of peace in this house. A place of belonging —the first since her father’s death. Despite all the years she’d spent beneath Aunt Ashton’s roof, she’d never felt it her home.
    Blinking rapidly, she looked around the large, well-furnished parlor with its broad, age-blackened beams, the pale yellow wallpaper sprinkled with roses, and the delicate pianoforte she’d so enjoyed—on those rare occasions when she’d let her mind relax enough to stray from the mission she’d set for herself.
    The ruination of Rance Welham, Lord Lazonby.
    The man who had selfishly set in motion everything that had destroyed her family.
    Except . . . he hadn’t.
    Dear God. Lazonby hadn’t ruined her life. He hadn’t stabbed poor Percy, Elinor’s rich fiancé—the man who was to have dragged them all from the brink of bankruptcy. He had not driven her father to suicide. Or caused Elinor to die of grief and fever. He had not, in all likelihood, even cheated at cards.
    Elizabeth had returned to London in relentless pursuit of retribution— from the wrong man.
    The cold horror of it ran through her again, and the urge to flee rose up in her breast like a panic, threatening to steal her breath.
    Dear heaven, she could not stay here and simply wait for Lazonby to take his revenge.
    For better than a year she’d put him through hell, smearing his name in the newspapers and skulking behind him, pillar to post. She’d spied on his friends, bribed his servants, and apparently driven Lady Anisha into asking dangerous questions, in some desperate attempt to prove her lover innocent.
    Elizabeth had even gone through Lazonby’s rubbish bins in an effort to find something— anything —that might send him back to prison.
    It was all she’d known to do; hate and bitterness had been her only comforts during those long, lonely years in Boston. The burning need to avenge the family she’d lost, and make Lazonby pay for all that he had taken from her. Papa. Elinor. Percy. Her entire existence, really.
    And now, suddenly, it was over.
    Her entire raison d’être had caved in atop her head.
    No, Lazonby wasn’t apt to let any of this stand—not once he’d had time to think, and had his good name restored. And even if he did, that hawk-nosed, black-eyed police commissioner assuredly would not. Lazonby might be a laughing, devil-may-care scapegrace, but Napier was something else altogether.
    Napier was ruthless; it oozed from his pores. And he meant to see that someone, eventually, paid for Sir Wilfred’s death . . .
    Suddenly, it was as if the parlor floor shimmied a little beneath her feet.
    “Lisette?” Bodkins moved as if to catch her arm.
    She regained herself, and drew away. “I . . . I am fine, thank you.”
    He let the hand drop. “Well, do reconsider leaving,” he said gently. “I’m sure the scandal will blow over. You must, of course, avoid Lady Leeton. But another school will be glad for your volunteer work.”
    Elizabeth forced a smile. “I thank you, Bodkins, but you quite waste your worry on me. I’ve a notion to quit Hackney at once. Mrs. Fenwick will remain behind to shut up the house.”
    Bodkins sighed. “I see you will not be dissuaded,” he said. “But I beg you, not Scotland. Consider . . . Paris, perhaps?”
    Elizabeth hesitated. “It doesn’t seem all that far away,” she said, thinking of Napier’s black eyes and long reach.
    Bodkins smiled. “The South of France, then, or the Italian coast?” he suggested. “A little house along the Camin deis Anglés ,