Read Online The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) by Diana Douglas - Free Book Online Page B

dry. She found the tinderbox and a brace of candles and carried them into a small drawing room just off the entrance hall. Most of the furnishings were draped with dust covers, but the room had a fireplace and that was what mattered most. She took off her dripping hat that was now minus its feathers and tried to wring some of the water out of her skirt. It was a futile effort and she soon gave it up. A chill went through her and she shivered. Lord, she was cold! She struck a spark and her hands shook as she set about lighting the brace of candles and then turned her attention to the fireplace. If she didn’t get this room warmed up soon, they would both end up with the ague. Fortunately, firewood had been laid in the hearth and after several attempts and a few choice words she managed to set the logs blazing. Shivering, she stood as close to the flames as she dared, trying to get warm.
    “I’m impressed.” Rand’s voice came from behind her. “Where did you learn to light a fire?”
    She crossed her arms tightly in front of her and looked over her shoulder. “I’ve n...never done it b...before.” She hadn’t even realized how badly her teeth were chattering until she had opened her mouth to speak. “I’ve seen M...Mattie do it.”
    “I’ve got to get you warm, brat. Now.” His tone was light but there was more than a little concern in his voice. “I can hear you shivering from here.” He strode to the corner of the room and whipped off a dust cover exposing a plain mahogany cabinet. He opened the door and retrieved two glasses and a cut crystal decanter of amber liquid. He poured the liquor into one of the glasses and carried it over to her. “Sip it,” he ordered. “It should help.” When she turned to take the glass from him he said, “Good God, you’re soaked to the bone. You need something dry to change into.”
    Dry clothing sounded wonderful. Her once elegant riding habit was cold and clammy against her skin and she knew she’d never get warm with it on. She took the glass and sniffed it. “B...Brandy?” she asked with surprise.
    “Yes. Under the circumstances I believe it’s warranted.”
    She tasted it and made a face. “I sup suppose it’s better than Ratafia. Aren’t you having any?”
    “I seem to have lost my taste for it. I’ll find something else. But first let me find something to dry you off with and a change of clothing. I can’t let you get sick.”
    “You’re just as wet as I am,” she pointed out. “Your cravat’s soggy and your hair’s messed up. I’ve never seen you in such a state of disrepair.”
    “It happens to the best of us,” he said. “Now, don’t go anywhere. Stay next to the fire and I’ll be back in a minute. And don’t gulp that,” he admonished when she raised the glass to her lips.”
    “Don’t do this. Don’t do that,” she muttered when he left the room. “One would think I was still in the school room. And where would I go anyway?” She took another sip and decided it wasn’t bad at all. She was a little warmer and the shivering was lessening. But her hair would never dry pinned up on top of her head. She sat her glass down on the mantle and began plucking out her hairpins until her hair fell loosely down her back. It was tangled and damp and she tried combing her fingers through it in a feeble attempt to bring some order to the unruly mass. It was too long and too curly and after several minutes of tugging on snarls and tangles she was beginning to regret her decision not to cut her hair to better suit some of the latest styles. She hit a particularly stubborn snarl and decided that given the chance she would sell her soul for a brush and comb.
    “My God!” Surprised, she looked over at Rand who had entered the room. He carried a green silk dressing gown and several towels draped over his arm, a bottle of liquor in his hand and a look of pure astonishment