Read Online Frovtunes’ Kiss by Lisa Manuel - Free Book Online

edges of the table and hissed, “Why didn’t you come back when Father died?”
    Freddy’s vehemence momentarily knocked Graham breathless. “I didn’t return because I was angry. Damned angry. I’d been accused of an offense I didn’t commit. My future, the future I’d been working so hard to achieve, crumbled before my eyes and no one—not Father, Mother, or anyone else—stood by me. So I left. I left England, with its sanctimonious rules and shallow standards, and washed my hands of the whole damned lot.”
    â€œAnd—
hic
—of me.” The venom injected into those words stung no less for the hiccup.
    A gulp of air lodged like a stone in Graham’s lungs. “No, Freddy, not you. I believed you wanted me gone, yes, but that only garnered my regret, not my anger.”
    â€œNo?” The younger Foster raised eyes burning from drink, and from a pain Graham realized he had put there. “I bore the brunt of it. Me and Letty both. While you were off hunting for trinkets, we lost our father. You’re our elder brother. You should have become head of the household.” His voice dropped to a caustic whisper. “You should have been here.”
    â€œFreddy, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”
    â€œDon’t bother.” His brother turned his face away and squinted into the gardens. “You think you can waltz back into our lives after a decade and express your disappointment in the way we turned out? The devil—
hic
—with you.”
    Freddy shoved backward and gained his feet, overturning his chair with a crash. A footman appeared in the doorway, but Graham gestured him away. A sound of disgust grated in Freddy’s throat as he pivoted with a precarious stagger, caught his balance, and headed for the house.
    â€œWhere are you going?”
    â€œTo—
hic
—pack my things.”
    â€œYou’re in no condition to—”
    From inside the house, a shriek blared—long, keening, outraged—taken up by frantic cries of
Help! Help!
    â€œWhat the blazes?” Graham jumped up from his seat.
    â€œThat’s Letty.” Freddy took off running. A clunk resounded when the toe of his shoe caught against the step-up into the Gold Saloon. He went down hard across the threshold, chin mercifully landing on the plush rug inside. He lay there stunned, blinking, then rose tentatively on his elbows and shook his head to clear it. Continued cries of “Help, thief!” roused him to his feet. Graham followed at a run.

    â€œOh, do stop yelling. I can explain. Really. Please just shush!” Backed to the study’s bay window, Moira wanted to clap her hand over Miss Foster’s mouth to stop her from raising the alarm.
    On second thought, that mouth was presently opened so wide she doubted one hand or even two could effectively seal it.
    Poised at the center of the room, arms flapping and ringlets flailing like a raging Medusa, the girl shouted on and on until Moira’s ears throbbed. She had been caught red-handed as they say, with desk drawers yawning, cabinets gaping, and a dozen or more books akimbo, pages fluttering in the breeze of the young woman’s tirade.
    â€œThis isn’t what you think,” Moira tried again, raising her voice to be heard. Miss Foster’s face, already an ominous scarlet, flamed hotter still, precipitating another hasty step backward on Moira’s part. She found herself flush against the windowpanes and tangled in the curtain.
    â€œI—I must have misunderstood Mrs. Higgensworth’s instructions…” Even to her desperate ears, that explanation rang with idiocy. She might have done better had the clatter of approaching footsteps not sent the panic rising to her throat.
    Several men burst in at once, a small but vigorous onslaught of trampling feet and booming voices. Their sheer ferociousness drove Moira tighter against the panes. Their