Read Online Judith Ivory by Untie My Heart - Free Book Online Page B

chair, she remembered his mean letters, his refusal to obey the court decision, his dark, unsmiling glances—and she sighed inwardly at herself. No, thank you.
    He offered her compact that contained sifted face powder out to her. In his gloved hand, his right hand. Along with it, he also deposited on the table in front of her: her pen, her tablet, a comb with a missing tooth, and yesterday’s to-do list, which read neatly and boldly:
     
    —feed Giovanni leftover lamb liver
    —take old bread to church
    —make ripped towel into monthlies rags
     
    She blushed again, all the more annoyed because she could not remember blushing this much in her lifetime, let alone in a single afternoon.
    Mount Villiars said, “I hope I didn’t get ink on anything.” He held his bare hand with the inked thumb up, out of the way.
    Emma’s tongue felt thick, her face hotter by the minute.She muttered, “I’m so clumsy today.” Ugh. Oh. She certainly was. She had botched this. All her trouble, all her risk, for naught. She couldn’t make anything work. She hadn’t been able to for four months now, and she was so frustrated by it—by him , this man —she wanted to wail, to stand up and overturn their blasted table, screaming. Do you know what this miserable no-account has done? This wicked man, whom I am not the least bit interested in because I am done with wicked men and even reformed wicked men? Do you have any idea what a powerful one can get away with? And, the scoundrel, he doesn’t even care! That’s the point. They never do. Someone truly ought to teach Lord La-di-da here a lesson ….
    Oh, what a rant she had inside herself.
    The stupid meeting went quickly from there. No wonder lawyers were willing to do him the odd favor. His financial life was producing enough work to retire the entire population of the Inns of Court. The last of the papers circulated, being verified and reverified; one of them was re-signed, resealed, and reimprinted. She crossed her legs irritably and actually kicked old Stuart once.
    “Sorry,” she said.
    He looked at her again.
    Which forced her to smile and say much more sweetly, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to kick you, your lordship.” No, she’d prefer to throw up on him.
    The next moment, he was standing, pulling on his glove. As he looked over at the bank’s governor, he said, “I would like the matter tidied up by tomorrow?” His smooth voice rattled the words out perfectly, no hesitation. And though intoned as a polite question, neither his syntax nor his manner left it one.
    “Tomorrow?” The governor, half-risen, all but choked. “We can’t possibly—”
    The viscount paused in pushing his glove down between two fingers, so as to focus all his desire to make a quickbusiness of this into one furrowed look of deep, imperious displeasure.
    At this unlikely moment, the word vicuna came to Emma. It was the name of the wool of his coat. While the fur inside it, which invisibly composed most of the garment, was chinchilla . Old words. Words she hadn’t thought in a long time. Which meant, dear God, his coat cost more than the average piece of English real estate. And was so thick and double-bunny-smooth, where it brushed against her hand—Mount Villiars swung it up off the chair and down onto his arms in a single movement—she wouldn’t have minded building a wee cottage on it, moving in, living there. If only she could have gotten him out of it first.
    She must have murmured the word. “Vicuna.” Because they all looked at her.
    Then—as if a brilliant idea—the bank’s governor said, “Your excellent references, Miss Muffin—”
    “Miss Muffin?” the viscount repeated, looking at her.
    “Molly Muffin,” she said. Her idea of humor. She always used absurd names when she didn’t use her own real, not entirely dignified one.
    The bank’s governor cleared his throat and began again. “Your excellent references said you also know how to do double entry