Read Online Fool Me Twice by Meredith Duran - Free Book Online Page B

among Marwick’s papers might lie the only chance at freedom she would ever receive—
    “Forgive me,” she said. “But I think of your well-being.” And that was true. Her motive was not entirely selfish. It did . . . concern her . . . to see a man in his prime lounging about like an invalid. So his wife had betrayed him. So he had made himself into a strange, maniacal, bullying hermit. What of it? He had the freedom to make a new start. If he wished, he could redeem himself, patch up matters with his brother, acquire a new wife who would help him forget that sordid business with the last one. Recover the man he’d once been.
    But all of this would be difficult to accomplish from his bedroom.
    Why, she was irritated with him. If she could resist the impulse to pity herself, he certainly should be able to do the same.
    She turned around and yanked open the curtains.
    The sudden flood of light revealed an atrociousamount of dust. Dust danced crazily in the air; dust coated the writing table; dust lined the edge of the carpet. “Goodness,” she said. “It’s a wonder you can breathe at all.”
    “Mrs. Johnson.” His voice was rife with disbelief. “Get the hell out.”
    She turned, prepared to defend herself, and the words fell apart in her mouth.
    To have seen him in the gloom was one thing. But in the light, his beauty was radiant. His hair blazed. His thickly lashed eyes looked as blue as jewels. His skin was tawny by design, fine-grained, and shadows girded the dramatic blades of his cheekbones. Her gaze dropped to discover that he had shoved up his sleeves, revealing blond hair that glimmered on his muscled forearms.
    Light was his natural element. In it, he became blinding, a golden creature who might easily write sonnets to outdo Shakespeare’s—or inspire them . . .
    She turned away, disconcerted, nervous in some strange new way. Her gaze fell on the hearth. She frowned at it, then stepped forward and ran a finger across the mantel. It came away a sooty gray.
    Turning back, she held up this finger for his edification, and made a tsking noise. “No wonder you feel unwell.”
    He was staring at her as though she were the lunatic. He looked as disconcerted as she felt. How . . . diverting. She was suddenly beginning to enjoy herself.
    Oh, dear. No, no, no . This determination rising within her was unwise and unwanted. She had promised herself she would do only the bare minimum. Marwick and his disorderly house were not her problems to solve.
    But the bully needed bullying. It was so obvious, suddenly. Whether or not he realized it, Marwick was badly in need of her direction. And she meant to direct him out of this room.
    He bent down in one graceful move and retrieved something from beneath the bed. When he rose, he held a bottle. “This seems to be a language you understand.”
    As their eyes locked, a sense of déjà vu overcame her. In the space of a heartbeat, she placed the feeling: this was not so different from the recent scene with Polly.
    He was trying to intimidate her. But if he wanted to throw the bottle, surely he already would have.
    And if she was wrong?
    She squared her jaw. She could survive a blackened eye from a bottle—but Thomas Moore, she was not so hopeful of. “Do you want to live in squalor? And all these books”—she nudged a pile with her toe and sent it toppling—“would do better on a shelf. Why . . .” Her voice failed. The collapse of the pile had knocked open one of the volumes. Surely that painted illustration wasn’t . . .
    She fell to her knees. “This is an illuminated manuscript !” She snatched it up, studying the gilded halo of Saint Bernard. “This Romanesque style—it dates from the thirteenth century at the latest!”
    He said something she didn’t catch, for now her eyes were darting from pile to pile, the possibilities multiplying, wondrous and fearsome at once. “What else have you got lying about on the floor?” On the floor .