Read Online Moonstruck Madness by Laurie McBain - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laurie McBain
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Duke laughed. "I 'll keep in touch, Jeremy." He disappeared into his carriage. A footman closed the door with a flourish and then jumped aboard quickly as the coachman whipped up the team of horses and they pulled out with a splashing of mud beneath the hooves and heavy wheels.
They had traveled for several hours, stopping for luncheon at a small inn and then continuing as a thunderstorm broke above and poured down upon the quickly moving team, slowing them down as the rain muddied the roads and created a quagmire out of the potted surface.
Lucien shifted lazily. Pulling back the hangings over the window he looked out in disgust at the muddy road and dismal countryside. The carriage wheel hit a deep hole and, lurching through it, threw the Duke against the side of the coach.
"Damn!" he mumbled, cursing the coachman atop, and was about to send some select phrases to him when the carriage slowed and he heard the coachman commanding the horses to a halt.
"What the devil?" Lucien demanded as he opened the carriage door and leaned out, the rain falling lightly on his face.
Ahead, halfway in a ditch on the other side of the road, lay an overturned carriage. The horses had been unharnessed and were being quieted by a couple of outriders. The coachman was rubbing his shoulder while he and another servant struggled to open the carriage door, behind which came a wailing moan that rose hysterically until a resounding slap was heard, then muffled sobbing.
"Dio mio!" someone spoke in exasperation.
The Duke's lips twitched with a grin as he heard the feminine voice. "See what you can do for them," he commanded his coachman, who was surveying the scene of chaos with contempt.
"Aye, Sandy, Davey, hop to it," he called to the young grooms who'd run to the Duke's lead horses to hold them and were standing gawking at the commotion.
The Duke reluctantly climbed down from his coach and walked through the mud to the overturned carriage. He could have sent his coachman, but he was curious about the inhabitants of the coach, especially if there was an Italian beauty to match the voice he'd heard. He was not disappointed, for as he approached the carriage a dark head adorned with a red silk hat appeared from the confines of the coach. Lucien's eyes traveled slowly, and appreciatively, over her well-rounded figure. The décolletage of her dress was low and wide, the scarlet damask a perfect contrast for the four rows of pearls clasped about her smooth, white neck. His eyes returned to her face and the reddened lips that were parted in a wide smile as she stared at her gentlemanly rescuer, her dark brown eyes full of surprised pleasure.
"Buon
giorno ."
"Good afternoon," the Duke replied. "You seem to be in some difficulty. May I be of some service?"
"Oh, grazie, we would be so grateful," she sighed with relief.
"We?" Lucien inquired politely.
"Si, aspetti un momento, per favore." She disappeared into the carriage while the Duke waited as she'd requested, until another figure appeared through the window. Lucien hid his disappointment as a well-dressed man stared down at him from his perch on the side of the carriage.
"Can't you get your men to move any faster and turn us upright?" the man demanded peevishly as he took in the scene. Then as his eyes saw the ducal crest emblazoned on the side of Lucien's coach, his demeanor swiftly underwent a change and he looked closer at their rescuer.
"I say, don't I know you?"
"I seriously doubt that," the Duke answered coldly, regretting his impulse to stop.
"Of course! You're the Duke of Camareigh," the man spoke triumphantly. "We met in Vienna. I'm James Verrick, the Marquis of Wrainton. Of course, I've been out of the country for quite a few years now." He looked into the dark interior of the coach, saying something in Italian, then glanced at the Duke gratefully. "We were on our way to London when this disaster happened and nearly cost us our lives. We've just arrived from France, the seat of
They had traveled for several hours, stopping for luncheon at a small inn and then continuing as a thunderstorm broke above and poured down upon the quickly moving team, slowing them down as the rain muddied the roads and created a quagmire out of the potted surface.
Lucien shifted lazily. Pulling back the hangings over the window he looked out in disgust at the muddy road and dismal countryside. The carriage wheel hit a deep hole and, lurching through it, threw the Duke against the side of the coach.
"Damn!" he mumbled, cursing the coachman atop, and was about to send some select phrases to him when the carriage slowed and he heard the coachman commanding the horses to a halt.
"What the devil?" Lucien demanded as he opened the carriage door and leaned out, the rain falling lightly on his face.
Ahead, halfway in a ditch on the other side of the road, lay an overturned carriage. The horses had been unharnessed and were being quieted by a couple of outriders. The coachman was rubbing his shoulder while he and another servant struggled to open the carriage door, behind which came a wailing moan that rose hysterically until a resounding slap was heard, then muffled sobbing.
"Dio mio!" someone spoke in exasperation.
The Duke's lips twitched with a grin as he heard the feminine voice. "See what you can do for them," he commanded his coachman, who was surveying the scene of chaos with contempt.
"Aye, Sandy, Davey, hop to it," he called to the young grooms who'd run to the Duke's lead horses to hold them and were standing gawking at the commotion.
The Duke reluctantly climbed down from his coach and walked through the mud to the overturned carriage. He could have sent his coachman, but he was curious about the inhabitants of the coach, especially if there was an Italian beauty to match the voice he'd heard. He was not disappointed, for as he approached the carriage a dark head adorned with a red silk hat appeared from the confines of the coach. Lucien's eyes traveled slowly, and appreciatively, over her well-rounded figure. The décolletage of her dress was low and wide, the scarlet damask a perfect contrast for the four rows of pearls clasped about her smooth, white neck. His eyes returned to her face and the reddened lips that were parted in a wide smile as she stared at her gentlemanly rescuer, her dark brown eyes full of surprised pleasure.
"Buon
giorno ."
"Good afternoon," the Duke replied. "You seem to be in some difficulty. May I be of some service?"
"Oh, grazie, we would be so grateful," she sighed with relief.
"We?" Lucien inquired politely.
"Si, aspetti un momento, per favore." She disappeared into the carriage while the Duke waited as she'd requested, until another figure appeared through the window. Lucien hid his disappointment as a well-dressed man stared down at him from his perch on the side of the carriage.
"Can't you get your men to move any faster and turn us upright?" the man demanded peevishly as he took in the scene. Then as his eyes saw the ducal crest emblazoned on the side of Lucien's coach, his demeanor swiftly underwent a change and he looked closer at their rescuer.
"I say, don't I know you?"
"I seriously doubt that," the Duke answered coldly, regretting his impulse to stop.
"Of course! You're the Duke of Camareigh," the man spoke triumphantly. "We met in Vienna. I'm James Verrick, the Marquis of Wrainton. Of course, I've been out of the country for quite a few years now." He looked into the dark interior of the coach, saying something in Italian, then glanced at the Duke gratefully. "We were on our way to London when this disaster happened and nearly cost us our lives. We've just arrived from France, the seat of
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