Read Online Practice to Deceive by Patricia Veryan - Free Book Online Page A

sill. She found the sword-belt on the floor behind the desk. As she snatched it up, her frayed nerves were jolted by the sound of approaching voices.
    Lord Delavale proclaimed in an irritated bray, “… tell you the fool is too weak by far to free himself! You likely heard something from th’ stables, is all. Where’s th’ damned key?”
    Guiding his brother’s faltering progress back into the room, Gordon glanced to the hall door and hissed, “Into the passage! Run!”
    Penelope flew. Gordon bent, threw Quentin over his shoulder, and followed. Heedless of decorum or the display of her pretty ankles, Penelope scrambled into the Passion Path. Gordon set his brother down and guided him around the logs, and Quentin struggled feebly to climb into the passage. A key rattled in the lock. It was no time for compassion. Penelope seized Quentin’s shoulders and Gordon boosted him up. Quentin shuddered and became a dead weight in Penelope’s arms, but he made no sound. The door burst open even as Gordon jumped in and began to pull his brother’s legs from sight.
    Delavale let out a howl of fury. “He’s gone! The filthy scum got away! Well, do not stand there, you stupid dolt! Rouse the house! Call the grooms! Horses, man! And fast! Oh, may he rot in hell for this!”
    There was no chance to close the passage door. Holding Quentin’s head pillowed against her breast, Penelope shrank back, trying not to breathe so rapidly, and listening in terror to her uncle’s maddened bellowing. He had only to look this way and he must see them, for the dancing flames must surely light their precarious hideaway. Through those flames she saw several pairs of male legs run into the room. The voices of Otton and Beasley added to the uproar. Milord’s blistering accusations against everyone but himself were cut off as Otton said coldly, “We avail ourselves nothing with all this chit-chat! Chandler had help. He was in no case to have crawled as far as the window, much less climbed down the tree! Delavale—your pistols! Hargrave, your master’s cloak. Come—we must scour the neighbourhood before someone else gets—er, claims the reward!”
    And with slams, shouts, and curses, they were gone.
    *   *   *
    â€œAt last!” Gordon stroked back the damp hair from his brother’s forehead. “He’s coming round.”
    Penelope glanced up from her ministrations. Quentin blinked at her, and briefly there was such weariness and pain in his eyes that she asked with a pang of sympathy, “Am I hurting you very badly? I am no apothecary, I fear.”
    â€œNo … you are not.…” A trace of the mischief she so well remembered crept into his eyes. “For which I do not … intend to … grieve.”
    She felt her cheeks grow warm, and bent shyly to her bandaging.
    Gordon asked anxiously, “How are you, my great looby?”
    â€œVery much better … thank you, sir.” With an effort, Quentin peered about. “Where the deuce are we?” And, becoming belatedly aware that he was half-sitting, half-lying in Killiam’s arms, he said with an attempt at heartiness, “Rob, you old scoundrel! What? Have I … dragged you into this, also?”
    â€œAye. And never try to fob me off with your nonsense, Major. I’d hoped ’twas a clean sword cut you’d taken, rather than that ugly mess. A musket ball, eh, sir?”
    â€œIt went right through, so let us have none of your gloom. Thanks to—you all, I’m reprieved. And so soon as this lady is—is finished, we…” The brave words trailed off, Quentin’s eyes widening as he became aware of the dainty bed on which he reposed, and the faint feminine scent that lingered about the pillows. “The devil! Never say I am—”
    Penelope chose that moment to tighten her bandage and as her patient was