Read Online If He's Daring by Hannah Howell - Free Book Online Page B

not troubled by such things,” Orion said as soon as the door closed behind the maid.
    She thought about that for a moment and nodded. “Yes, I suppose he would. I was just realizing that Morris is very superstitious, very worried about ghosts and goblins and things that go bump in the night. It is as if he never matured past the age where he feared what was under the bed.”
    “There is sometimes good reason to fear what is under the bed, so to speak. A man like that,” he continued before she could remark on his words, “will not stay in an inn named, let us say, the Devil’s Horseman. He will travel on to one with a less ominous name. He may even do a few things that draw the attention of the people around him, like tossing salt over his shoulder if he spills it or becoming nervous just because a black cat walks by. Most people have a touch of superstition in them, and have limits as to what odd things they will accept with ease, but the worst of such fears have passed except in a few. I suppose he believes in such things as witches.”
    “Oh yes. There was a fair near us when we were at the country house, and Alwyn wished to go. So did I. But Morris refused to come with us because he said there was a witch there. He meant the gypsy, I suspect, who was doing her readings or whatever they are called. I thought he just used it as an excuse to hurry away from the country, because he left that day; but the more I thought on it, the more I realized he was serious.”
    “And exactly what does Morris look like? Tall, short, red hair, black hair?”
    “He does have dark hair, but it is more of a very dark brown. Hazel eyes. Shorter than you and almost too thin. He prefers to wear his wig when out and about, for his hair is thinning. He also prefers his clothing to be as bright as his carriage. Morris is a bit of a dandy. Otherwise he is not one who would stand out in a crowd. There is nothing about him, aside from his bad taste in clothing, that would make you recall him if you ever met him.”
    “And your husband had dark brown hair?”
    “Not as dark as Morris’s, but yes. Why?”
    “Because I begin to wonder if we have been following the right carriage, despite my inability to believe there could be two such gaudy carriages on the road. Everyone who has seen it has mentioned the small boy looking out of the window as having black hair, very black hair, rather like Giles’s.”
    Orion noted the faint hint of color that came and went on her smooth cheeks. The boy’s hair color had obviously troubled her. He wondered if he had judged her wrong, if she was more daring than he had thought her to be. Had she cuckolded her husband?
    “I know.” Catryn rubbed her forehead. Even speaking of Alwyn’s hair, so different from hers or her husband’s, or even her father’s, never failed to give her a headache. “My father says that color shows up in our bloodline now and then. It goes back a long way.”
    “To some distant relative?”
    “Yes, but he never told me who. I asked, but he said he would have to search the books he has on the family, and I soon forgot to remind him that I was waiting to know. It would have been nice to have a name to spit out every time someone noted that Alwyn’s hair is an odd color for a redhead and brunet to produce. Always remarked upon ever so gently and politely, however.”
    He was not surprised by the bite in her words. It was easy to imagine just how such a prying inquiry would be made, and the poorly hidden implication behind it. Orion ignored the twinge of disappointment he felt over the fact that she had not cuckolded her husband, thus making her a prime target for seduction, especially since that twinge was overshadowed by how much it pleased him to have her innocence confirmed. What he saw now was more proof that Giles could be right: Young Alwyn, even Lady Catryn, could be blood kin of the Wherlockes or Vaughns. Thin, watered down, distant though it might be, there was a