Read Online Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown by Patricia Veryan - Free Book Online Page B

match that expensive,
if sullied muslin.
    Miss Storm swooped upon Little Patches who had sat down to
cleanse one paw, and gathered her up. Returning to stroll along beside
the tall man, she cuddled the purring kitten and explained, "Just for
now, I'm a ward. 'Course, I might be a missus when I grow up, unless
Mr. Dev decides to—" She pursed her lips and peeped up at Redmond, her
face all sparkling mischief.
    She was, he realized, much prettier than he had at first
thought. Her hair was undeniably frizzy, and her chin pointed; her
mouth was too generous and her nose, although straight, lacked
distinction. Yet there was about her an air of friendliness and trust
and an irresistible brightness. He wondered what this "Dev" fellow had
in mind for her.
    "Who, dare I ask, is Mr. Dev?" he drawled. "And what is it
that he's to decide?"
    Miss Storm released the now squirming kitten, who at once
began to stalk a drifting dandelion seed. "He's Alain Jonas Devenish,"
she announced, as though the utterance of that name rated a roll of
drums. "My guardian. And I'm not 'lowed to say what he might decide.
You got very nice eyes, but you're not so handsome as my Dev.
'Specially when you frown."
    '' Am I doing so? My apologies. Quite terrified, are you?''
    The resultant beam illuminated her face. "No," she said with a
giggle, and tucked her hand confidingly into his as they walked on
again. "But you did look cross. Why? Do you know my Dev?"
    He could not tell her of the ugly suspicion her words had
awoken in his mind, and so evaded. "The name is familiar. Wasn't he in
some kind of trouble a short while ago?"
    Her laugh was a merry trill, and she performed a miniature
pirouette. "What kind? My Dev's had all sortsa troubles."
    "Has he?" said Redmond, smiling with her. "Like—you, for
instance, madam?"
    "Oh yes. I'm his worstest trouble by far, he says. Do you like
cats?"
    "But of course."
    "Some men don't. Was—were you taking Little Patches for a
walk?"
    He chuckled. "I fancy it was the other way round. I suppose
you are in school? Or have you a governess?"
    "Mr. Dev can't send me to the cemetery 'cause I don't always
talk just so nice. What you sniggering at?"
    Redmond sobered with an effort. "Your pardon. Was I
sniggering?"
    "I think so. It's what Miss Cassell says I do when she talks
jawbreakers at me! Did I say a bad word? Ain't it—I mean, isn't it
'cemetery' where young ladies go?"
    "I hope not, Mademoiselle Josephine. I believe the word you
seek is 'seminary.' "
    Briefly she was silent, then shook her small head as if
banishing some half-remembered thought. "When I was little, I was stole
by gypsies," she revealed chattily. "My Dev 'dopted me so I wouldn't be
sold to a flash house."
    "Poor little girl." Touched, he stroked her thick hair in a
quick caress.
    "Thank you," she said blithely. "Come on, or I'll be late for
supper! What's a wretched rake?"
    Redmond's jaw set, and the kindness died from his eyes. For a
moment he said nothing, then he answered, "A very—unwise gentleman.''
And having no doubt of the reply, asked, "Whom did you hear say that?"
    "Miss Charity. She's the dearest of dears. And so is Mrs.
Rachel, even if she
is
so pretty. Miss Charity
didn't know I heared her say 'wretched rake.' " She rolled the words
around zestfully.
    "Were I you, I don't think I'd say it in front of anyone else.
Not ladylike. Er, what did Miss Charity have to say about this—er,
person?"
    "She says as the wret—er, the unwise cove—"
    "Gentleman."
    "Oh. Well, she says as how he's gone and made us lose Little
Patches prob'ly, and he wasn't nothing but a iggerant warthog with tall
feet."
    Redmond stared his astonishment. "She said—
what
?"
    "I think that's what it was. Something about warthogs, I know."
    Puzzling at it, he asked experimentally, "Could it have been
'boor?' "
    "Oh, that's right! A iggerant boar! That means warthog, don't
it?"
    He grinned, vexation rapidly giving way to amusement. "Not
quite. And are you sure it wasn't