Read Online The Coachman's Daughter by Gayle Eden - Free Book Online

uneven breaths. “After… after your brothers depart. I had
planned on it, in any case. I have money enough to go wherever I
please.”
    Letting his lashes lift, he still could not
look at her yet. He stared instead at the niches on the wall where
papers were tucked and sorted.
    She went on, “Lisette will be going back to
town. I—we all knew I would go eventually. Everyone is growing up,
and we… we all must.”
    He already knew the answer, the insult, the
way it would be taken when he did look at her and ask, “Would you
consider becoming my mistress?”
    Mulhern drew in a deep breath and raised her
head, letting her hands drop heavily to her thighs. By then she had
masked those eyes he could read so easily before.
    “I don’t want to be owned or paid by you.
I’ll want you, when you can say that you want me, as you say it to
your equal—” She got to her feet, looking down at him before
finishing, “Not because you are Lord or Marquis either.”
    She stepped over his legs and dodged his
attempt to catch her hand the first time.
    He got to his feet and caught her on the next
try, bringing her back against his chest. He had whispered tersely,
“What is this, Mulhern, Some game of yours to have me painting
after you just because we’ve discovered a mutual lust.”
    She whirled around and glared at him. “I
didn’t seduce you.”
    God, he wished she would slap him. He thought
she might yet. Even in anger, her eyes were like polished jasper.
He would never see them; see her, the same again.
    Knowing exactly what he was doing, Deme
smiled. It did not reach his eyes. “Did any of that matter moments
ago when I had you wet and aching?”
    “No.” Her teeth cinched for a moment. “That
proves I want you. But —to you it is just another female you
can—.”
    She drew in a breath through her nose, her
eyes getting colder by the moment. “No. No I will not be the one to
lie. You feel something for me, something so powerful I can almost
smell it, taste it. Yet you will tell yourself I am only worthy of
some tumble in a stable, or to be hidden away as your mistress.
Even now, you are cheapening it in your mind, aren’t you? You may
say you have craved honest desire and passion, but you are afraid
of it.”
    She stepped back and raked him up and down
with her gaze, her body trembling. “The truth is, you—are not good
enough for me.”
    He stood there while the door clicked,
hearing her footfalls, then the door above open and close. He heard
muffled voices.
    Deme sat himself down heavily in the chair,
sitting there long after the candle sputtered.
    When the door opened again, near dawn, he
moved his booted feet from the table and straightened.
    Patrick Mulhern set the lamp on the small
desk and leaned his hips against it. He was dressed neatly for the
day, though not in livery.
    For silent moments, they took measure of each
other.
    “I’m not here as a servant to the Duke, your
Lordship. I am here as Haven’s father.”
    “Yes.” Deme rubbed his hands down his thighs
and took a bracing breath in and out. He would never play a fool
with a man like Patrick. There was not any point in it. He had half
expected a meeting when he had heard voices earlier. He had waited
for it.
    Deme did not know what she had told her
father, but her upset alone, and likely, their own voices had
carried somewhat in the heat of passions.
    “Your stretch at sobriety and family
affection this week has apparently hit a snag tonight...”
    “Apparently.”
    Patrick held his stare. “Did you run out of
distractions in the local village? No wenches to tumble. Perhaps
lost your taste for them and was in need of a distraction?” That
was delivered as was meant to, with steel.
    Deme came to his feet but stayed where he
was. “I attempted to seduce your daughter. It had nothing to do
with drink or otherwise. She’s an attractive woman, and we are both
of age.”
    A nerve ticked in Mulhern’s jaw. “And if you
had your way, what then?