Read Online Tarnished Angel by Elaine Barbieri - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elaine Barbieri
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thinking?
Ross gave a short impatient snort. What in hell was the matter with him, anyway? The little tart was probably thinking of her home, wherever that wasNew York, most likely. She was probably thinking how unfair it was that she had been forced to associate with the barely civilized residents of this small, uninteresting frontier town.
Yes, he had not forgotten the cutting words she'd used in her harangue of the guiltless stationmaster prior to boarding that smaller coach in Benson. The poor man's ears were probably still ringing.
Refusing to lower his glass while Devina Dale looked in his direction, Ross uttered a low, incredulous sound. How could a man as corrupt as Harvey Dale have produced a daughter who looked like an angel? And she did appear angelic, all right, especially in that soft blue dress, which even at a distance he could tell was the same shade as her brilliant eyes. Ross's lips tightened. What a waste the face of an angel, the heart of a shrew. Well, a little patience and he'd have the opportunity to express his opinion of Devina Dale directly to her face…
A bustle of movement in the rear doorway of the house interrupted Ross's thoughts as a large woman appeared. Devina Dale turned toward her and shook her head. The woman went back inside the house.
His eye glued to his glass, Ross followed Devina's slender figure until it disappeared through the rear doorway. Unable to look away, he willed her to come out once more, but she did not. Ross waited a few minutes longer, then finally lowered his glass. Despite himself, he could not shake an inexplicable sense of loss.
Harvey paced the small, meticulously neat room with annoyed anticipation. He checked his watch with a frown, finally removing his fashionable bowler to toss it atop the circular table in the corner. He disliked waiting. Most especially, he disliked waiting under these circumstances.
Harvey flicked his glance around the room in careless appraisal. He had been in this room many times, yet he never failed to be amazed at the skill with which it was decorated, despite the foreign flavor of its composition. Silk wall hangings, lacquered furniture, the intimate attention to detail that was characteristic of the Oriental mind, whether in the workplace or in the creation of beauty. The room would have been considered lovely by one who enjoyed an exotic flavor. But he most definitely was not one of them. He silently admitted that the decor of the room reflected the personality of its inhabitant. The admission annoyed him almost as much as did his own presence in the room that morning. For the hundredth time he wondered what he was doing here.
His fine gray mustache twitched with irritation. He had had no intention of climbing the narrow staircase this morning. His thoughts had been elsewhere, firmly ensconced in other matters, but somehow…
Despite himself, Harvey walked the few steps to the delicately painted wardrobe in the corner. He pulled open the door, his eyes dropping to the fine Oriental silk garments inside. The pale shades were in sharp contrast to the brilliant colors worn by China Mary. They reflected a refinement of taste that was yet another cause of his fascination for…
The sound of a light step at the door alerted Harvey to a presence in the hallway the moment before the knob turned. Closing the wardrobe, he turned as the door opened slowly.
His breath catching in his throat, Harvey watched in silence as a tall, delicately boned young woman paused in the open doorway. The exquisite planes of her face remained momentarily still before moving into a smile. With a characteristic grace of movement, the woman completed her entrance and turned to close the door gently behind her. She took two short step forward and bowed slightly before she spoke. The soft, musical tone of her voice heightened his desire as it touched his
Ross gave a short impatient snort. What in hell was the matter with him, anyway? The little tart was probably thinking of her home, wherever that wasNew York, most likely. She was probably thinking how unfair it was that she had been forced to associate with the barely civilized residents of this small, uninteresting frontier town.
Yes, he had not forgotten the cutting words she'd used in her harangue of the guiltless stationmaster prior to boarding that smaller coach in Benson. The poor man's ears were probably still ringing.
Refusing to lower his glass while Devina Dale looked in his direction, Ross uttered a low, incredulous sound. How could a man as corrupt as Harvey Dale have produced a daughter who looked like an angel? And she did appear angelic, all right, especially in that soft blue dress, which even at a distance he could tell was the same shade as her brilliant eyes. Ross's lips tightened. What a waste the face of an angel, the heart of a shrew. Well, a little patience and he'd have the opportunity to express his opinion of Devina Dale directly to her face…
A bustle of movement in the rear doorway of the house interrupted Ross's thoughts as a large woman appeared. Devina Dale turned toward her and shook her head. The woman went back inside the house.
His eye glued to his glass, Ross followed Devina's slender figure until it disappeared through the rear doorway. Unable to look away, he willed her to come out once more, but she did not. Ross waited a few minutes longer, then finally lowered his glass. Despite himself, he could not shake an inexplicable sense of loss.
Harvey paced the small, meticulously neat room with annoyed anticipation. He checked his watch with a frown, finally removing his fashionable bowler to toss it atop the circular table in the corner. He disliked waiting. Most especially, he disliked waiting under these circumstances.
Harvey flicked his glance around the room in careless appraisal. He had been in this room many times, yet he never failed to be amazed at the skill with which it was decorated, despite the foreign flavor of its composition. Silk wall hangings, lacquered furniture, the intimate attention to detail that was characteristic of the Oriental mind, whether in the workplace or in the creation of beauty. The room would have been considered lovely by one who enjoyed an exotic flavor. But he most definitely was not one of them. He silently admitted that the decor of the room reflected the personality of its inhabitant. The admission annoyed him almost as much as did his own presence in the room that morning. For the hundredth time he wondered what he was doing here.
His fine gray mustache twitched with irritation. He had had no intention of climbing the narrow staircase this morning. His thoughts had been elsewhere, firmly ensconced in other matters, but somehow…
Despite himself, Harvey walked the few steps to the delicately painted wardrobe in the corner. He pulled open the door, his eyes dropping to the fine Oriental silk garments inside. The pale shades were in sharp contrast to the brilliant colors worn by China Mary. They reflected a refinement of taste that was yet another cause of his fascination for…
The sound of a light step at the door alerted Harvey to a presence in the hallway the moment before the knob turned. Closing the wardrobe, he turned as the door opened slowly.
His breath catching in his throat, Harvey watched in silence as a tall, delicately boned young woman paused in the open doorway. The exquisite planes of her face remained momentarily still before moving into a smile. With a characteristic grace of movement, the woman completed her entrance and turned to close the door gently behind her. She took two short step forward and bowed slightly before she spoke. The soft, musical tone of her voice heightened his desire as it touched his
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