Read Online The Carriagemaker's Daughter by Amy Lake - Free Book Online

breathing, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing him react. There was enough truth in the marchioness’s words to make him uncomfortable. He had never met a woman who entered into the spirit of a physical relationship more enthusiastically than Celia Sinclair. He’d often thought that marriage to the type of schoolroom female she had just described would be nigh unsupportable.
    He  was not currently considering marriage, of course. A lifetime of feminine protests and shocked glances, sharing a bed with a wife who flinched at his every touch. It had never struck Charles as a situation to be much sought after.
    He studied Celia’s face, seeing the doubt and uncertainty that belied her outwardly brazen manner. Lady Sinclair had traded on her charms all her life. She knew no other path of communication with the opposite sex, and was, in consequence, ever vulnerable to them. One could almost feel sorry–
    The marchioness frowned. An unpleasant thought had apparently just occurred to her.
    “Unless you’re having a bit on the side, ” said Celia, her voice becoming petulant. “I know you, Charles, you’re never long without company.”   She paused, obviously running through the list of possible candidates in her mind. “Who is it?  Lucinda Blankenship wouldn’t dare cross me–”
    “As you say.” 
    Lady Sinclair gasped suddenly and stepped back from him. Charles started to straighten his neckcloth, thought better of it.
     “Oh!  It’s that governess, isn’t it!” cried Celia, pointing a shaking finger somewhere in the direction of his chest. “You’ve taken that... that girl to your bed!”  Her voice rose to a screech. “Well I won’t have it Charles, do you hear me?  I simply won’t have it!  I’ll sack her at once!”
    For a moment, Charles was too stunned to reply. The governess!  Why had the marchioness picked Helène Phillips, of all people, as the object of her jealousy?  He was both stung by the accusation that he would bed a chit of that class–there were rules about such behavior, as well–and outraged that Celia would threaten to dismiss her on his account. His anger grew. He was tired; tired and ashamed of the temptation he still felt each time he looked at Celia. The woman was married to his best friend, and this was enough–
    “I’ve no interest in some dirty little nobody,” he drawled, the only response he could think of that might divert Celia’s attention from the unfortunate Miss Phillips. Charles forced himself to keep his voice low and calm. “But I’ve also no interest in you.”  He moved toward the door.
    “I’ll discharge her without reference!  I can promise you of it!”
    “Go right ahead,” Lord Quentin shot back. “And also explain it to Jonathan, if you will. I could hardly care less.”   He twisted the key in the lock, opened the door and left, shutting it firmly behind him.
    “Oh!” cried Celia, “Oh!”   Other words seemed to escape her. She picked up a porcelain vase from the mantle and threw it at the door, where it shattered. She stomped angrily across the room, and then also left, slamming the door.
    * * * *
    Helène heard the library door close a second time, and let out a deep, shaky breath. Perhaps her heart would stop pounding in a few minutes, and she might dare to leave her hiding place. There had been plenty of room behind one of the floor-length velvet drapes that covered the library windows, although she had been shaking so much she was sure that Lord Quentin or the marchioness would notice.
    Stupid. Why had she bothered to hide in the first place?  It might have been a bit awkward, of course–meeting Lord Sinclair, or one of his guests at such a late hour–but a bit of awkwardness would have been far preferable to the scene she had just overheard.
    Some dirty little nobody. Tears threatened, and she dashed them away in annoyance. One more arrogant, self-important lord and his odious lady. And to be threatened