Read Online For All Eternity by Heather Cullman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Heather Cullman
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much as a carpet in sight.
Obeying the majordomo’s command that she follow him, Sophie climbed the stairs and trailed him. down the second-floor corridor, mentally noting the touches she would add when she became Viscountess Oxley. She was just imagining the barren hallway graced with a Grecian urn and a nymph statue, when her guide stopped before a partially open door.
Sprawled in a chair just inside was Julian. Garbed as he was in a sky-blue dressing gown with his golden hair in a decidedly unartistic tousle, he appeared to have only just risen from bed.
Sophie shoved the door the rest of the way open. “Julian?”
The instant he saw her, he sprang to his feet, extending his arms in welcome. “Sophie, dearest. What a lovely surprise.”
Ignoring the impropriety of his unclothed state, she flew into his waiting arms and gladly claimed his ready kiss. “Oh, Julian. I just had to see you,” she sobbed, letting all her pent-up grief flow forth. “The most dreadful thing has happened!”
He drew back a fraction to peer anxiously at her face. “Why, dearest. Whatever has happened?”
She released a shuddering sob and shook her head, suddenly too overwrought to reply.
He made a clucking noise, not unlike those Aunt Heloise favored. “Surely things cannot be so very dreadful as that? Indeed, I am certain that I shall be able to set them right if you’ll but tell me what they are.”
Desperate to confide her troubles to him, to let him lift the heavy burden from her shoulders and take it upon his own, infinitely broader ones, she tried to speak. Yet, despite her valiant efforts, the words strangled in her misery-clogged throat and all that came out was a smothered squawk.
“Come, come, now, my sweet. You know that I’d do anything for you,” he murmured, capturing her tearful gaze with his warm blue one. “Truly I would. But I shan’t be able to help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
So lit with love were both his eyes and voice, that the throttling tension in her throat eased enough for her to blurt, “It’s … it’s that ugly … boring! … Lord Lyndhurst. My aunt and cousin insist that I wed him. We’re to be married in two weeks time. Two weeks!” she repeated, her voice raising with hysteria.
“Sh-h-h. There, now, love,” he crooned, patting her back as if she were an infant with stomach gas. “The situation is hardly as terrible as all that.”
“Not terrible? It’s worse than terrible! It’s… it’s…” She shook her head as she grappled for a phrase powerful enough to express her repugnance for the marriage. “It’s intolerable! More than flesh and blood can bear,” she finally wailed. “I’m to be wed to a man whose face
I can’t abide. Why, when I think of the torment of having to spend the rest of my life looking at that hideous scar …” she broke off, shuddering with revulsion.
There was a low chuckle from somewhere to her right, then, “I always thought that scar rather frightful myself, though I daresay you’re the first chit I’ve ever found discerning enough to agree.” Another chuckle. “Or could it be that you’re simply the only one bold enough to voice her honest opinion?”
Sophie gasped and sprang from Julian’s embrace, gaping in horror in the direction from which the voice had come.
There, a mere four feet away, lounging on a faded red sofa with a glass of what appeared to be brandy in his hand, was Lord Quentin Somerville. Lyndhurst’s brother.
She could have died on the spot. “Oh … oh!” she sputtered at a loss to do or say more.
He laughed and straightened up. Tossing the remainder of his drink down his throat, he drawled, “Never fear, Miss Barrington. I can assure you that your less than flattering assessment of my brother has given me no offense whatsoever. In case you haven’t heard, his lordship and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms.”
Grinning the grin that had melted a hundred hearts that Season alone, he
Obeying the majordomo’s command that she follow him, Sophie climbed the stairs and trailed him. down the second-floor corridor, mentally noting the touches she would add when she became Viscountess Oxley. She was just imagining the barren hallway graced with a Grecian urn and a nymph statue, when her guide stopped before a partially open door.
Sprawled in a chair just inside was Julian. Garbed as he was in a sky-blue dressing gown with his golden hair in a decidedly unartistic tousle, he appeared to have only just risen from bed.
Sophie shoved the door the rest of the way open. “Julian?”
The instant he saw her, he sprang to his feet, extending his arms in welcome. “Sophie, dearest. What a lovely surprise.”
Ignoring the impropriety of his unclothed state, she flew into his waiting arms and gladly claimed his ready kiss. “Oh, Julian. I just had to see you,” she sobbed, letting all her pent-up grief flow forth. “The most dreadful thing has happened!”
He drew back a fraction to peer anxiously at her face. “Why, dearest. Whatever has happened?”
She released a shuddering sob and shook her head, suddenly too overwrought to reply.
He made a clucking noise, not unlike those Aunt Heloise favored. “Surely things cannot be so very dreadful as that? Indeed, I am certain that I shall be able to set them right if you’ll but tell me what they are.”
Desperate to confide her troubles to him, to let him lift the heavy burden from her shoulders and take it upon his own, infinitely broader ones, she tried to speak. Yet, despite her valiant efforts, the words strangled in her misery-clogged throat and all that came out was a smothered squawk.
“Come, come, now, my sweet. You know that I’d do anything for you,” he murmured, capturing her tearful gaze with his warm blue one. “Truly I would. But I shan’t be able to help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
So lit with love were both his eyes and voice, that the throttling tension in her throat eased enough for her to blurt, “It’s … it’s that ugly … boring! … Lord Lyndhurst. My aunt and cousin insist that I wed him. We’re to be married in two weeks time. Two weeks!” she repeated, her voice raising with hysteria.
“Sh-h-h. There, now, love,” he crooned, patting her back as if she were an infant with stomach gas. “The situation is hardly as terrible as all that.”
“Not terrible? It’s worse than terrible! It’s… it’s…” She shook her head as she grappled for a phrase powerful enough to express her repugnance for the marriage. “It’s intolerable! More than flesh and blood can bear,” she finally wailed. “I’m to be wed to a man whose face
I can’t abide. Why, when I think of the torment of having to spend the rest of my life looking at that hideous scar …” she broke off, shuddering with revulsion.
There was a low chuckle from somewhere to her right, then, “I always thought that scar rather frightful myself, though I daresay you’re the first chit I’ve ever found discerning enough to agree.” Another chuckle. “Or could it be that you’re simply the only one bold enough to voice her honest opinion?”
Sophie gasped and sprang from Julian’s embrace, gaping in horror in the direction from which the voice had come.
There, a mere four feet away, lounging on a faded red sofa with a glass of what appeared to be brandy in his hand, was Lord Quentin Somerville. Lyndhurst’s brother.
She could have died on the spot. “Oh … oh!” she sputtered at a loss to do or say more.
He laughed and straightened up. Tossing the remainder of his drink down his throat, he drawled, “Never fear, Miss Barrington. I can assure you that your less than flattering assessment of my brother has given me no offense whatsoever. In case you haven’t heard, his lordship and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms.”
Grinning the grin that had melted a hundred hearts that Season alone, he
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