Read Online One Unashamed Night by Sophia James - Free Book Online Page A

report on the carriage accident had come to him a few weeks back and it was not as simple as he may have thought it.
    The axle had been cut, sawed through to within an inch of the circumference, the shearing off of the wheel a deliberate and callous action from someone who wanted to create mayhem. Well, he had. One man was dead and the driver’s fingers would never be right again, banishing the man and his family to penury for the rest of his life.
    Well, not quite, his thoughts so akin to high drama that they made him smile. He had offered the man both a job and a cottage at Beaconsmeade, the substantial property he had inherited from his uncle three years ago.
    Who the hell did the person responsible want to harm? Was it him? He sifted through memory. In his life there had been many things he had done that might invite such an action. Yet why now and why there in the middle of a county he seldom visited? Who else, then, could have been the target? Not the innocuous and timid mother and son, he decided, or the sensible and level-headed Mrs Bassingstoke. Perhaps the perpetrator had achieved his goal, then, with the demise of the snoring gentleman? He ran his fingers across his eyes and felt the beginning of an ache that was familiar around his left temple.
    He tried not to remember that night in the snow, tried not to wonder what had happened to Beatrice-Maude. It was better she slipped into the delight of memory, a favoured recollection when everything else had faded.
    Lord. He had not had a woman apart from her in over two years, the sheer difficulty of arranging it all and appearing ‘sighted’ too impossible to contemplate. Easier to lie in bed and just remember, he decided, for the number of people who actually knew his vision to be so poor could still be counted upon one hand.
    Asher. Emerald. Lucy, Jack and Bates. A profound sense of shame and inadequacy rubbed up against anger. Five people were all that he wanted knowing of it too. Just them. He did not wish to walk into a room and feel that others judged him on what he could not see. He had always been a physical person, a fine shot, a good horseman, a man who had used his world from one wide edge of it to the other.
    To be reduced to dependence and vulnerability would be…He could not even find a word for what he thought, could not dredge from the sheer and utter terror of his situation a phrase to encapsulate the horror.
    He tried to keep his forays into society at a minimum and he hated the busy rush of cities. Tomorrow, however, he had an appointment with his lawyer and needed to be there early. He preferred Beaconsmeade and the rolling greenness of the Kentish countryside, places he could walk and work and where the air smelt clean and breathable and infinitely less defiled.
    Listening to the horses’ hooves on the first paved stones of the town, he counted the corners.
    Fifteen.
    The Carisbrook town house should almost be in sight now. Securing his cane, he prepared for the carriage to stop. Bates at his side was doing the same.
    ‘You have no plans at all for this evening, sir. I did not accept the Claridges’ invite as you instructed me to, though your brother wrote to inquire whether you would be there.’
    ‘He is almost as reclusive as I am and he only wants to know of my absence to make sure of his own.’
    ‘There is, however, a ball at the Rutledge mansion tomorrow evening at which you are expected to appear.’
    Taris frowned, trying to understand why his presence should be in any way necessary.
    ‘The Earl of Rutledge is a supporter of the Old Soldiers’ Fund, a charity of which you are the principal patron, sir. I did remind you last week of the affair.’
    ‘I see. Could I not just pledge a great deal of money—?’
    ‘The Duke of Carisbrook put your name forward to speak, sir.’
    Damn, Taris thought. Asher and his efforts to get him out and about! Sometimes he could happily strangle his brother for his meddling, born out of