Read Online Amanda Scott by Lord Greyfalcon’s Reward - Free Book Online Page A

here is like to be less crowded at this hour, too.”
    “I am accustomed to a private parlor, my lord,” she said provocatively.
    “I don’t doubt it, but you’ll not get one while you’re in my company, my girl. We’re like to set tongues wagging enough as it is. I’d prefer it if you’d take a bite in the chaise, actually, but I suppose that is too much to hope for.”
    “Indeed it is,” she retorted with asperity. “I have been cooped up in this vehicle for far too long already, and if you do not wish to hand me over to my father’s keeping in a demented state, you will certainly not ask such a thing of me.”
    “Well, it goes against my better judgment, but I should detest being confined for so long, myself, so come along.” He dismounted, handed his reins to an ostler, and opened the chaise door for her. She stood, waiting for him to let down the steps, but instead, he merely grasped her lightly under the arms and swung her to the cobbled pavement.
    Her breath seemed to catch in her throat as she looked up into his face, but he had already turned his attention to the inn, and catching her hand, he tucked it into the crook of his elbow and began moving toward the front steps. She had no choice but to move with him, though she could still feel warmth where his hands had grasped her waist and could feel, too, an extraordinary awareness of his body so near her own.
    Inside, her senses returned to normal. The coffee-room proved to be empty, and the innkeeper’s wife bustled about them, providing bread, a hearty beef-and-vegetable soup, and a whole roasted chicken. Greyfalcon ordered tea for Sylvia and ale for himself; then, before taking a single bite, he got suddenly to his feet again.
    “I ought to give orders to the boys,” he said, a shadow of guilt passing across his face. “They’ll not see to their own needs, otherwise.”
    Sylvia also knew a pang of guilt. She had not so much as thought about the fact that the postboys must be as hungry as she was herself. They deserved at the very least to have some bread and meat and some ale, if not a full meal.
    She looked up to find the innkeeper smiling obsequiously down at her, and she smiled back.
    “We didn’t hear his lordship had got married,” the man said, watching her rather narrowly.
    Without thinking, she responded, “He hasn’t.” Then, noting the man’s look of blatant disapproval, she said evenly, “He is my cousin. I had word of an emergency at home, and he very kindly offered to escort me there.”
    “Home?”
    “Near his own, about five miles upriver from Iffley,” she said.
    “I don’t know his lordship personally, only by reputation,” the man said. He seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment before he murmured more to himself than to Sylvia, “I daresay he’s good for what he puts on tick.”
    Sylvia opened her mouth to assure the man that Greyfalcon was a man of honor, but before the words came, her evil genius intervened. “He is not going to pay you at once?” She raised her eyebrows, then looked away quickly as though she had said too much. Indeed, she had.
    The innkeeper regarded her suspiciously. “He be an earl, right enough, if he be who he says.”
    “Oh, yes, he is Greyfalcon. Only—”
    “Only what, miss?”
    “Well, I really should say no more,” she began, then bit her lip sharply when Greyfalcon himself loomed up behind the innkeeper.
    “That’s taken care of,” he said on a note of satisfaction. “Bring me another mug of ale, innkeeper.”
    “As to that, my lord, I fear I’ll need to see the color of your money first,” the man said stoutly.
    “What? I thought we had already made our arrangements. You’ll be paid, man, and soon enough.”
    “I’d as lief be paid now, sir, no offense intended.”
    “Well, offense is taken,” Greyfalcon said sharply. “What the devil is this, then?” He glanced at Sylvia, who looked quickly away, unable to meet his gaze. “I see,” he said slowly.