Read Online No Greater Love by Katherine Kingsley - Free Book Online Page A

Georgia said, looking at the platters of food, terribly impressed. Her mother had instilled in her an appreciation for fine cooking, and as she’d been taught the art, she knew that what Binkley had produced was no mean feat.
    “Actually, he found me. In a bazaar in India. That’s where I’ve been living until now. In any case, I was attempting to buy some cloth for a suit of clothes, completely lost as to how to go about it and making a terrible hash of the matter. Binkley appeared as if by magic, took over the negotiations, led me to a reputable tailor, and ever thereafter took me in hand. His previous employer had recently married, and Binkley did not approve of his choice of bride.”
    “Oh,” said Georgia. “I hope I pass muster. I would hate for you to lose Binkley on my account.”
    “The circumstances were quite different. As I understood it, the new bride was an old harridan who was inclined to interfere with Binkley’s way of doing things. He no longer felt appreciated. So he adopted me.”
    Georgia smiled. “I see. You were very lucky. He took me in hand today too. I was feeling quite lost and frightened, but there was Binkley, treating me as if I were the finest of ladies on my way to St. Paul’s to be married.”
    “I’m glad. He does that for me too. When I fall he picks me up, brushes me off, and sends me on my way.”
    “You don’t seem to me to be the sort of person who falls very often, Nicholas Daventry.”
    “Don’t I? Ah, but there you are mistaken.” He stood and fetched the decanter.
    Georgia watched the play of firelight on his face, watched it catch in the ebony strands of hair, saw the shift of muscle beneath his coat as he leaned over to fill her glass. And then there were his hands … they were so long and elegant and graceful. She hadn’t seen hands so beautiful since her mother’s. They had been gentle, healing hands, but just as adept at threading a needle or working in the kitchen creating masterpieces out of nothing but scraps. And how often had her mother held her and stroked her hair off her forehead as she wove wonderful tales of places long ago and for away?
    Georgia shook off the memories, watching Nicholas as he filled his own glass and placed the decanter down.
    He looked over at her as he resumed his seat. “What is it, Georgia? You seem in another world.”
    “Nothing. It’s nothing. I was in another world, I suppose. I’m sorry to say that daydreaming is a bad habit of mine. Nicholas, will you tell me about Raven’s Close? How did it come to be yours?”
    “It was the original family house before Ravenswalk was built. What you see of the Close now was largely built in the seventeenth century, added on to the original structure.”
    “Yes, I had thought so. But I don’t understand about the deed, all these provisions.”
    “Ah, well, the actual ownership is a strange thing. You see, the property is entailed to Ravenswalk and can never be sold. My father had the house for his lifetime, as I now will have it for mine. But the present earl decides the manner in which it is to be passed on. I imagine it’s a built-in protection against the occasional wastrel that tends to crop up in a family. In my case, because I was only ten when my father died, the Close immediately reverted to the Raven trust, until such a time as my uncle decided that I was ready to take it on.”
    “Why did he wait for so long, then, and make a provision of your being married by your thirtieth birthday? And why did he let it fell into such a state?”
    Nicholas rubbed his neck. “We had a disagreement. It was rather a nasty one, and I left. I thought that when I came home, he would honor the original agreement—that I was to have had it when I was twenty-one. I also assumed that he’d keep the house up. God only knows why he didn’t. I see Jacqueline’s hand in that.”
    “Jacqueline?”
    “Lady Raven, as you know her.”
    “Oh, yes, of course—I didn’t know. Isn’t it odd?