Read Online The Bride Wore Scarlet by Liz Carlyle - Free Book Online Page A

turmoil.
    Miss Belkadi cleared her throat, recalling Anaïs to the present, and to her duty as a guest. “How marvelously strong this tea is,” Anaïs remarked. “Is it something special?”
    â€œIt is a black tea from Assam,” said her hostess, “near the Himalayas. Lord Ruthveyn has it sent.”
    â€œAh, Ruthveyn,” said Anaïs musingly. “I saw him tonight. What is he like?”
    But Miss Belkadi’s gaze shuttered at once. “He is a gentleman.”
    â€œAnd is he . . . a sort of Hindu?” Anaïs pressed, never one to give up easily.
    Miss Belkadi visibly stiffened. “I believe he is a Christian,” she said, “but I never thought it my place to ask.”
    â€œNo, I meant is he—”
    Anaïs stopped, and shook her head. It did not matter what she had meant. “I beg your pardon yet again, Miss Belkadi,” she said. “I am not ordinarily so rude. I can plead only a stressful night.”
    For the first time, Anaïs saw curiosity flicker in her gaze. “I am sorry to hear it,” she said softly.
    Anaïs looked down at her strange attire. “And I daresay you must wonder . . .”
    Miss Belkadi sat serenely, one perfect eyebrow lifted.
    â€œ . . . about my state of dress,” Anaïs managed to finish. “About what I’m doing here.”
    Miss Belkadi’s expression remained passive. “It is not my place to wonder any such thing.”
    Just then, a swift tap - tap sounded on the door, and Lord Bessett slipped back inside.
    Somewhere along the way he had donned his coat, which was rather a shame when he had looked so fine in his shirtsleeves. He had rolled her clothing into a neat bundle and tucked it under his arm, somehow leaving the lace flounce of one drawer leg peeking out the bottom.
    She wanted, suddenly, to laugh. Lord Bessett, however, already looked indignant enough. Doubtless he was not accustomed to playing lady’s maid.
    â€œIs there someplace, Safiyah, Miss de Rohan might dress?” he said without preamble.
    â€œOf course.” Miss Belkadi motioned toward one of the doors that opened off the small sitting room. “In my bedchamber.”
    Bessett dropped the bundle in Anaïs’s lap. “I’ve called my carriage to take you up to Henrietta Place,” he said. “I can walk home so—”
    â€œThank you, but I don’t live in Westminster,” Anaïs interjected.
    Lord Bessett looked at her oddly.
    So he did indeed know who her father was, even where he lived. She had suspected as much from the shift in his demeanor on the stairs. “In any case, my parents are abroad at present, Lord Bessett,” she said. “At their vineyards. But I live in Wellclose Square.”
    At that, his eyes widened. “In the East End?” he blurted. “Alone?”
    â€œNo. Not alone.” Anaïs kept her face emotionless, having decided there was much to be learned from Safiyah Belkadi. “And my coachman awaits at the Blue Posts. I’m to meet him there.”
    The odd glint was back in Lord Bessett’s eyes, and Anaïs found herself suddenly wondering what color they were. In the sitting room lamplight, it was hard to judge.
    â€œWell, what an interesting evening this has turned out to be,” he finally said. “But you aren’t walking alone to a common public house. Not at this time of night.”
    Miss Belkadi was looking back and forth at the two of them. “It is rather late,” she said, rising gracefully from her chair. “I shall walk up with Miss de Rohan. Perhaps you, my lord, might follow me?”
    Bessett seemed to hesitate. “If your brother agrees, yes. Thank you.”
    â€œMy brother agrees,” said Miss Belkadi. She had folded her hands neatly together again, and for the first time, Anaïs saw the strength and stubbornness in the gesture.
    Bessett turned his gaze