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Authors: Barbara Pierce
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others said and a little supposition on my part. I know Lyon kidnapped Wynne and he had prepared a trap for her betrothed, Mr. Keanan Milroy. Whatever happened in the Milroy town house ended with Lyon’s death.”
The wind picked up, sending waves across the carpet of bluebells. Tendrils of her blond hair danced on the wind. “Perhaps I did run away, Mr. Claeg. If I had remained, the gossip would have flourished, hurting not only me but Wynne Bedegrayne as well.” She stared at her bare fingers. “My friends would not have benefited from my association. Besides, they have gone on with their lives. Wynne married
Mr. Milroy. My mother told me that they have twin daughters. As for Amara, well, I am happy she has found love with Mr. Bedegrayne.” Lady A’Court appeared to be struggling with her tears again. “A baby, you say?” Her trembling hand came up to her mouth.
“The babe will come in August.” He came up behind her and enclosed her in his embrace. Resting his chin on the top of her head, he said, “I was wrong to pry, Countess. I hope Loughwydde has brought you a measure of peace.”
She shuddered. Perhaps she was also thinking of the day he had found her near the edge of the cliffs daring the rock to crumble beneath her feet. “I have been comfortable.”
It was Mallory’s opinion that comfort was a poor substitute for happiness. She may not view it as such, but he thought it was fortunate fate had thrown him in her path.
“Are you finished with your sketch? I should return to the house before they start searching for me.” Not waiting for his reply, she slipped out of his embrace. She walked over and retrieved his book. The countess studied his sketch of her in silence.
“It is an adequate representation,” he said, defending his work. “I would like for you to sit for me again. A beauty such as yours deserves to be immortalized beyond a simple sketch.” She looked up at him blankly. Or mayhap she did not believe he was sincere in his compliment. Indeed, he had seduced countless women into his bed with false flattery and they had tumbled eagerly. It wounded a bit that she thought he was low enough to take advantage of her vulnerability. “You, of course, may refuse if you find my work mundane.”
Lady A’Court handed over his sketching book. “Do you honestly believe that drivel or are you playing on my sympathies? No, do not answer. Right now I do not know what to believe about you. One minute you are a flirtatious bounder and I see you for what you are. The next, I am telling you things I have never confessed to a soul while you let me cry
on your shoulder. Which man is the real Mallory Claeg?”
He agreed with her assessment except that she had not cried on his shoulder. She had not permitted those tears to fall. Hell, he understood her confusion. Years ago he could have answered her with confidence, but over the past year and a half there had been some changes in his life. His first step had been to reestablish a bond with his sister, Amara. It had been too late to make amends with his younger brother. Four years ago, Doran had gotten involved in a coining scheme and had landed in Newgate Prison. He had died there. Losing him had reminded Mallory that he had allowed pride and his selfishness to destroy his ties to his family. Amara had been generous with her love. His father had no use for love. He wanted respect but had none for Mallory’s art. Lord Keyworth’s rigidity reminded Mallory why he had broken with his family all those years ago. Molding oneself into someone else’s ideal destroyed one’s soul. Doran had died trying to appease their father’s expectations. Amara had almost given up the man she loved. Who was Mallory Claeg? Wicked seducer or jovial confidant? For Brook Meylan, Countess of A’Court, alone, maybe he could be both men.
“Countess, who do you want me to be?”
She sighed, disappointed in his flippancy. “More games, Mr. Claeg? The difference between a
The wind picked up, sending waves across the carpet of bluebells. Tendrils of her blond hair danced on the wind. “Perhaps I did run away, Mr. Claeg. If I had remained, the gossip would have flourished, hurting not only me but Wynne Bedegrayne as well.” She stared at her bare fingers. “My friends would not have benefited from my association. Besides, they have gone on with their lives. Wynne married
Mr. Milroy. My mother told me that they have twin daughters. As for Amara, well, I am happy she has found love with Mr. Bedegrayne.” Lady A’Court appeared to be struggling with her tears again. “A baby, you say?” Her trembling hand came up to her mouth.
“The babe will come in August.” He came up behind her and enclosed her in his embrace. Resting his chin on the top of her head, he said, “I was wrong to pry, Countess. I hope Loughwydde has brought you a measure of peace.”
She shuddered. Perhaps she was also thinking of the day he had found her near the edge of the cliffs daring the rock to crumble beneath her feet. “I have been comfortable.”
It was Mallory’s opinion that comfort was a poor substitute for happiness. She may not view it as such, but he thought it was fortunate fate had thrown him in her path.
“Are you finished with your sketch? I should return to the house before they start searching for me.” Not waiting for his reply, she slipped out of his embrace. She walked over and retrieved his book. The countess studied his sketch of her in silence.
“It is an adequate representation,” he said, defending his work. “I would like for you to sit for me again. A beauty such as yours deserves to be immortalized beyond a simple sketch.” She looked up at him blankly. Or mayhap she did not believe he was sincere in his compliment. Indeed, he had seduced countless women into his bed with false flattery and they had tumbled eagerly. It wounded a bit that she thought he was low enough to take advantage of her vulnerability. “You, of course, may refuse if you find my work mundane.”
Lady A’Court handed over his sketching book. “Do you honestly believe that drivel or are you playing on my sympathies? No, do not answer. Right now I do not know what to believe about you. One minute you are a flirtatious bounder and I see you for what you are. The next, I am telling you things I have never confessed to a soul while you let me cry
on your shoulder. Which man is the real Mallory Claeg?”
He agreed with her assessment except that she had not cried on his shoulder. She had not permitted those tears to fall. Hell, he understood her confusion. Years ago he could have answered her with confidence, but over the past year and a half there had been some changes in his life. His first step had been to reestablish a bond with his sister, Amara. It had been too late to make amends with his younger brother. Four years ago, Doran had gotten involved in a coining scheme and had landed in Newgate Prison. He had died there. Losing him had reminded Mallory that he had allowed pride and his selfishness to destroy his ties to his family. Amara had been generous with her love. His father had no use for love. He wanted respect but had none for Mallory’s art. Lord Keyworth’s rigidity reminded Mallory why he had broken with his family all those years ago. Molding oneself into someone else’s ideal destroyed one’s soul. Doran had died trying to appease their father’s expectations. Amara had almost given up the man she loved. Who was Mallory Claeg? Wicked seducer or jovial confidant? For Brook Meylan, Countess of A’Court, alone, maybe he could be both men.
“Countess, who do you want me to be?”
She sighed, disappointed in his flippancy. “More games, Mr. Claeg? The difference between a
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