Read Online My Lady Mischief by Kathy Carmichael - Free Book Online
Authors: Kathy Carmichael
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In London I expect you to court her."
At these words, Hart felt the noose make a final adjustment, almost cutting off his air. Without thought, his hand reached up and pulled at his neckcloth, completely disarranging its once precise folds.
The earl went on, "I'm too old to stand by and watch. While I will not force Thea to marry you, I have insisted she allow you to court her as she would with any of her other suitors. Make your case in London." He stood and placed a crinkled hand on Hart's shoulder. "You are a good lad and I foresee that soon I may call you son. I bid you goodnight."
Hart closed his eyes but heard the earl's footstepsas he left the room. He sympathized with Steyne, he truly did. Lady Althea wasn't an easy young woman to contain, but he failed to see why he should be elected the one to control her.
Using a neatly folded handkerchief, he wiped perspiration from his forehead. What crazy betwaddled impulse had led him to behave in a manner so depraved?
Of one thing only was he certain. He desired Thea. Wisdom dictated that he avoid her at all costs. After all, his life was pleasant and orderly as it was. The sameness had led to a bit of boredom, but what was boredom compared to sheer madness?
Yet, honor dictated the opposite. And, he was a man of honor.
Making matters worse, he was unable to remove her image from his mind or the feel of her soft skin from his fingertips. As a substitute, a goodly portion of blue ruin would have to suffice. Perhaps a servant would know where some could be obtained.
After yanking the bell-pull, it was only a matter of minutes before a footman responded.
Tearing off his neckcloth, Hart eyed the footman. Then, with a grin, he said, "I'll wager a gold sovereign you can't find me a bottle of gin."
"I'll take you up on that wager, your lordship," the footman agreed and ran to do his bidding before Hart changed his mind.
He was left alone, stroking his ear and muttering to the closed door. "I can only hope the fellow was not another of these cursed phantoms."
*
The housekeeper's parlor was nearly dark; blinds prevented all but the dimmest of daylight from entering the room. It was furnished with only the most utilitarian of furniture, not because ornaments were forbidden but because it was simply her character. She stood, bent over the only other occupant of the parlor.
Lady Althea's abigail, Meg, sat pitifully huddled upon a straight-backed chair. She pulled her apron over her head and began to weep in earnest, but not before the housekeeper had seen the red spots covering her tear-streaked face.
"Merciful Heavens," she cried. "Measles!" The housekeeper scurried to summon Miss Mimms.
As his valet placed a tray in front of him, Hart awoke to the muffled sounds of frantic activity at Steyne Hall. Remembrance hit him painfully over the head. His assault upon Lady Althea and his decision to marry the chit had surely been insanity. He wondered if moonlight madness had affected him last evening, or Steyne Hall enchantment? At last he put his disturbing behavior to rest under a heading neatly labeled overly tired.
He slurped a bit of his tea and then cringed. How was it possible to sip too loudly? Turning to look over his shoulder at Hobbs, he abruptly checked his movement and placed a hand upon his forehead to make sure it remained attached. "It is time we depart this topsy-turvy household and return to the safety of London."
"I knew you'd come to your senses, m'lord. And, I doubt, none too soon."
Soon, the morning's rituals were complete and Hart, with only a lingering headache, went to inform his host that he would be leaving that noon. Upon hearing Hartingfield's regrets, Steyne had the appearance of a man relieved of a heavy burden. Unknowingly, Hartingfield's eyebrow quirked, the exact image of his father the duke at his stodgy best.
The earl reacted to his arrogant expression, as if the younger man now commanded a higher status. "I hope you will indulge me, Lord
At these words, Hart felt the noose make a final adjustment, almost cutting off his air. Without thought, his hand reached up and pulled at his neckcloth, completely disarranging its once precise folds.
The earl went on, "I'm too old to stand by and watch. While I will not force Thea to marry you, I have insisted she allow you to court her as she would with any of her other suitors. Make your case in London." He stood and placed a crinkled hand on Hart's shoulder. "You are a good lad and I foresee that soon I may call you son. I bid you goodnight."
Hart closed his eyes but heard the earl's footstepsas he left the room. He sympathized with Steyne, he truly did. Lady Althea wasn't an easy young woman to contain, but he failed to see why he should be elected the one to control her.
Using a neatly folded handkerchief, he wiped perspiration from his forehead. What crazy betwaddled impulse had led him to behave in a manner so depraved?
Of one thing only was he certain. He desired Thea. Wisdom dictated that he avoid her at all costs. After all, his life was pleasant and orderly as it was. The sameness had led to a bit of boredom, but what was boredom compared to sheer madness?
Yet, honor dictated the opposite. And, he was a man of honor.
Making matters worse, he was unable to remove her image from his mind or the feel of her soft skin from his fingertips. As a substitute, a goodly portion of blue ruin would have to suffice. Perhaps a servant would know where some could be obtained.
After yanking the bell-pull, it was only a matter of minutes before a footman responded.
Tearing off his neckcloth, Hart eyed the footman. Then, with a grin, he said, "I'll wager a gold sovereign you can't find me a bottle of gin."
"I'll take you up on that wager, your lordship," the footman agreed and ran to do his bidding before Hart changed his mind.
He was left alone, stroking his ear and muttering to the closed door. "I can only hope the fellow was not another of these cursed phantoms."
*
The housekeeper's parlor was nearly dark; blinds prevented all but the dimmest of daylight from entering the room. It was furnished with only the most utilitarian of furniture, not because ornaments were forbidden but because it was simply her character. She stood, bent over the only other occupant of the parlor.
Lady Althea's abigail, Meg, sat pitifully huddled upon a straight-backed chair. She pulled her apron over her head and began to weep in earnest, but not before the housekeeper had seen the red spots covering her tear-streaked face.
"Merciful Heavens," she cried. "Measles!" The housekeeper scurried to summon Miss Mimms.
As his valet placed a tray in front of him, Hart awoke to the muffled sounds of frantic activity at Steyne Hall. Remembrance hit him painfully over the head. His assault upon Lady Althea and his decision to marry the chit had surely been insanity. He wondered if moonlight madness had affected him last evening, or Steyne Hall enchantment? At last he put his disturbing behavior to rest under a heading neatly labeled overly tired.
He slurped a bit of his tea and then cringed. How was it possible to sip too loudly? Turning to look over his shoulder at Hobbs, he abruptly checked his movement and placed a hand upon his forehead to make sure it remained attached. "It is time we depart this topsy-turvy household and return to the safety of London."
"I knew you'd come to your senses, m'lord. And, I doubt, none too soon."
Soon, the morning's rituals were complete and Hart, with only a lingering headache, went to inform his host that he would be leaving that noon. Upon hearing Hartingfield's regrets, Steyne had the appearance of a man relieved of a heavy burden. Unknowingly, Hartingfield's eyebrow quirked, the exact image of his father the duke at his stodgy best.
The earl reacted to his arrogant expression, as if the younger man now commanded a higher status. "I hope you will indulge me, Lord
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