Read Online Cat Burglar in Training by Shelley Munro - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shelley Munro
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He owes me money, and I intend to collect. You can take the time to talk to me now or face the consequences.”
The underlying threat made the fine hairs at the back of my neck prickle. “I’m listening.”
“Richard!” A woman waved with an elegance that spoke of a finishing-school education.
I studied her with interest, especially when I caught Beauchamp’s wince. To test the theory that flashed through my mind, I said, “Let’s walk.” I indicated the far end of the graveyard with a jerk of my head. “It’s quiet over there. Only the ghosts to witness our conversation.”
“Not here. Meet me at the Rose and Crown in the village.” He checked the Rolex on his left wrist. “Four o’clock. And I’m warning you. Be there or you’ll be sorry.”
“Richard!” the woman called again. Up close, she appeared older than my first estimate—probably late forties. Her fur coat and diamond earrings put her in a higher income bracket than mine.
“Hello,” I said, extending my hand in greeting. “A terrible business, this. I feel so sorry for James.”
The woman, who I assumed was Beauchamp’s wife, raised well-tweezed brows and glared at my hand so hard you’d think I carried anthrax. I glowered back, raising my own brows in a silent stare-down contest. Finally, she grasped my fingers for a millisecond. It was a wet-fish handshake, the sort that makes me want to run off and wash my hands.
“Millicent, this is Lady Evelyn Fawkner. Evelyn, my wife Millicent Beauchamp.”
The woman inclined her head, the light catching the diamonds in her earrings. Her mouth didn’t sneer but she might as well have hired neon signs in Piccadilly Circus. The woman had pigeonholed me as a threat to her hold on her husband. “Lady Evelyn.”
Suppressing a cringe at my full name, I pretended not to notice the woman’s rudeness but suddenly I was seriously considering relieving the Beauchamps of their jewelry.
“I see an old school friend I must catch up with. It was nice to meet you,” I said to Millicent Beauchamp. I walked away, only acknowledging Richard Beauchamp with a clipped nod. The man was a worm, but he’d piqued my curiosity. I’d meet him at the Rose and Crown and take things from there.
After a quick glance at the groups of mourners, I headed for the biggest one. I knew a few of the people on the outskirts and hoped to eavesdrop on the ones I didn’t know—the mourners who stood beside James Moning.
“Hi, stranger.”
I found myself scooped off my feet and wrapped in the arms of a blond man. Before I could even take a breath, he kissed me. His tongue snaked into my shocked mouth.
“My turn,” a masculine voice said.
I was handed over like a parcel at a kid’s birthday party and thoroughly kissed once again. This time without tongue, for which I was truly grateful.
“Put me down,” I gasped.
Tristram’s eyes glowed like those of a friendly puppy. “How are you, Eve? I haven’t seen you for years. My sister told me you were living in France. Are you back home?”
“Give the girl a chance to catch her breath,” said the blond who’d stuck his tongue halfway down my throat.
Well, he was certainly in a position to know I needed some air. I stared at him with attitude before turning back to his friend. “Hi, Tristram. Yes, I’m back home from France for good.”
Tristram grinned in an affable way. I remembered him as a bumbling young man with good intentions. He hadn’t altered, in either temperament or bad judgment regarding his friends…Simon Grenville. Yeah. The Honorable Simon Grenville. He hadn’t changed much either, still full of slimy moves that left a girl feeling dirty.
“So, you’re living at home with your father?” Simon asked.
“That’s right.” My reply was short and not far from rude.
“You have a daughter, don’t you?”
I went on high alert. Although I didn’t keep Amber a secret, I didn’t go out of my way to tell people about her either. It was a form
The underlying threat made the fine hairs at the back of my neck prickle. “I’m listening.”
“Richard!” A woman waved with an elegance that spoke of a finishing-school education.
I studied her with interest, especially when I caught Beauchamp’s wince. To test the theory that flashed through my mind, I said, “Let’s walk.” I indicated the far end of the graveyard with a jerk of my head. “It’s quiet over there. Only the ghosts to witness our conversation.”
“Not here. Meet me at the Rose and Crown in the village.” He checked the Rolex on his left wrist. “Four o’clock. And I’m warning you. Be there or you’ll be sorry.”
“Richard!” the woman called again. Up close, she appeared older than my first estimate—probably late forties. Her fur coat and diamond earrings put her in a higher income bracket than mine.
“Hello,” I said, extending my hand in greeting. “A terrible business, this. I feel so sorry for James.”
The woman, who I assumed was Beauchamp’s wife, raised well-tweezed brows and glared at my hand so hard you’d think I carried anthrax. I glowered back, raising my own brows in a silent stare-down contest. Finally, she grasped my fingers for a millisecond. It was a wet-fish handshake, the sort that makes me want to run off and wash my hands.
“Millicent, this is Lady Evelyn Fawkner. Evelyn, my wife Millicent Beauchamp.”
The woman inclined her head, the light catching the diamonds in her earrings. Her mouth didn’t sneer but she might as well have hired neon signs in Piccadilly Circus. The woman had pigeonholed me as a threat to her hold on her husband. “Lady Evelyn.”
Suppressing a cringe at my full name, I pretended not to notice the woman’s rudeness but suddenly I was seriously considering relieving the Beauchamps of their jewelry.
“I see an old school friend I must catch up with. It was nice to meet you,” I said to Millicent Beauchamp. I walked away, only acknowledging Richard Beauchamp with a clipped nod. The man was a worm, but he’d piqued my curiosity. I’d meet him at the Rose and Crown and take things from there.
After a quick glance at the groups of mourners, I headed for the biggest one. I knew a few of the people on the outskirts and hoped to eavesdrop on the ones I didn’t know—the mourners who stood beside James Moning.
“Hi, stranger.”
I found myself scooped off my feet and wrapped in the arms of a blond man. Before I could even take a breath, he kissed me. His tongue snaked into my shocked mouth.
“My turn,” a masculine voice said.
I was handed over like a parcel at a kid’s birthday party and thoroughly kissed once again. This time without tongue, for which I was truly grateful.
“Put me down,” I gasped.
Tristram’s eyes glowed like those of a friendly puppy. “How are you, Eve? I haven’t seen you for years. My sister told me you were living in France. Are you back home?”
“Give the girl a chance to catch her breath,” said the blond who’d stuck his tongue halfway down my throat.
Well, he was certainly in a position to know I needed some air. I stared at him with attitude before turning back to his friend. “Hi, Tristram. Yes, I’m back home from France for good.”
Tristram grinned in an affable way. I remembered him as a bumbling young man with good intentions. He hadn’t altered, in either temperament or bad judgment regarding his friends…Simon Grenville. Yeah. The Honorable Simon Grenville. He hadn’t changed much either, still full of slimy moves that left a girl feeling dirty.
“So, you’re living at home with your father?” Simon asked.
“That’s right.” My reply was short and not far from rude.
“You have a daughter, don’t you?”
I went on high alert. Although I didn’t keep Amber a secret, I didn’t go out of my way to tell people about her either. It was a form
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