Read Online Cheryl Holt by Too Tempting to Touch - Free Book Online

them.
    “Where did you get that ring?” she demanded.
    “Don’t worry. It’s not real.”
    “Then . . . why?”
    “So that I won’t ever forget what they did to me.”
    “Oh, James . . .” She sighed, clearly wanting to chastise but comprehending that he wouldn’t listen. Instead, she queried, “How are you obtaining so much cash? I wish you’d confide in me.”
    “I work, silly. From where would you assume it comes?” He supplied nothing further, for he didn’t careto expound on vice and gambling, on extortion and intimidation. She would never understand or condone his acquired habits.
    His tribulations had furnished him with an interesting glimpse into his character that he wouldn’t have had if his previous life had lumped on as planned. He could be ruthless, could be brutal, and he’d mustered his less savory traits to maximum effect.
    He didn’t mind wallowing with the lower classes of London’s squalid neighborhoods. After all that had transpired, he wasn’t destined to hobnob with the gentry as he had when he was a boy, but he hated that
she
had to work for a living.
    By now, she should have been a matron with a successful husband and gaggle of children, mistress of a fine house, and a pillar of the community. None of those circumstances had come to fruition, and he was sure their father would never rest in peace until she was settled.
    Two goals drove him: revenge—and a desire to have his sister comfortably situated. The twin objectives influenced his every move, and he would not relent until they were both achieved.
    He didn’t suppose they had much time to talk, so he needed to hurry. He’d spied on Ellen as her employer had flitted into a shop, and she would reappear soon. Ellen wouldn’t want to be caught conversing with him.
    “Tell me,” he started. “Where is Father’s grave located? I have to pay my respects.”
    She frowned, then said very gently, “There was no money, James, for a proper funeral. He was buried in the pauper’s field, behind the church.”
    Which meant no stone had been carved, no marker had been left, to indicate that the kindly man had everexisted. It was another cross for James to bear, and it was awfully heavy. If he’d smote the dear fellow, himself, his burden couldn’t have been any more profound.
    The news hardened his resolve, focused his energy and determination. His family would be avenged! If it took till his dying breath, he would see to it.
    Suddenly Ellen pulled away and straightened, and James glanced up to ascertain that her employer was returning.
    The woman was younger than he’d presumed and extremely beautiful, with fabulous brunette hair and big green eyes. She was short but delightfully rounded in all the right spots, and she was very merry, exuding an aplomb and grace that only the very rich can convey.
    She symbolized everything he loathed, and James detested her on sight. Swiftly and covertly he evaluated her jewelry, her purse, assessing value and worth, as he conjectured as to which item would be easiest to pilfer and pawn. He hoped she wasn’t too attached to any of them, for one would be missing when he walked away.
    “Ellen,” she greeted, as she approached, “you’re so sweet to have waited for me.”
    “It’s no trouble,” Ellen replied. “You know that.”
    “I couldn’t decide on the fabric I wanted, but ultimately, I picked the blue.”
    “Excellent. It will be superb on you.”
    There was an awkward pause as the woman scrutinized James, then Ellen, then James again. Obviously, she expected an introduction.
    Ellen was embarrassed, and she tried to figure out what to say, but her tongue got rolling before her brain kicked in. “Rebecca, allow me to present my . . . my . . .”
    She couldn’t finish the sentence, so he stepped forward, clasped the lady’s hand, and bowed over it. “I amMr. James Duncan,” he lied, providing a false surname. “Ellen and I are old friends. We grew up together in Surrey, and we