Read Online The Offer by Catherine Coulter - Free Book Online Page A

of nausea and fury that had consumed him as he had stood helplessly watching his man die.
    He shook his head. He was tired, tired to his very bones. But she was still alive. He leaned over to pinch out the flame from the one candle that sat at his elbow. He looked for a moment at his large hands, with their elegantly manicured nails. They were the hands of a gentleman, a man whose pleasures and pastimes gave no clue of any preoccupation with the memory of the bloody violence that had occurred on the Peninsula.
    He pinched the candle wick, sighed deeply, and settled back into the chair. He thought it curious that this one sick girl had stirred the embers of his past, making him relive scenes he’d believed long buried within him, or forgotten.

8
    Miss Teresa Elliott frowned down into her glass of champagne. She eyed her host, saw that he was no longer paying her sufficient attention, and said, “Really, Charles, you must have some idea where his lordship could be. I thought you said that you yourself gave Phillip directions to Moreland. He isn’t here. I want him here. You will do something about this now.”
    â€œI did give him directions, yes. He should have come by now. I don’t understand.”
    â€œIt appears to me that your understanding isn’t what is important here. Come, aren’t you worried about Phillip? After all, this wretched snowstorm has turned the world white. Perhaps Phillip is hurt, lying helpless somewhere. I really expect you to do something of consequence right now, Charles.”
    Charles looked at Miss Elliott’s very pretty face and thought for perhaps the dozenth time that wherever Phillip was, he was better off than being here. Perhaps even lying in the snow was better. Miss Elliott had charmed him in London. Here, at Moreland, she was driving him to Bedlam. He admitted he was impressed with her ability to hide this part of her character from prying eyes in town. Or perhaps she hadn’t. After all, Phillip wasn’t here and she wasn’t as concerned about her manners. Damn Phillip.
    â€œYou act as if you don’t care if poor Phillip is dying. And he could be, what with all that nonsensical snow. So irritating.” She snapped down her glass of champagne onto a side table. The glass was one of his mother’s favorite set. He hoped it hadn’t cracked. “Didn’t you say that Phillip’s valet is here? What is the servant doing here doubtless all snug in front of a fire when his master is dying in the snow? Surely you have put questions to him, forced him to answer, have you not?”
    Enough was enough. Charles had exquisite manners. He had three sisters. He knew how to employ manners, how to gently soothe maidenly sensibilities, but enough was enough. He said in the sweetest voice that any of his good friends would have recognized as dangerous, “I begin to believe, Teresa, that the champagne has taken its toll on your brain. Naturally I have spoken to Dambler. He is growing increasingly concerned. However, since he doesn’t imbibe, he doesn’t keep repeating himself. He has no notion of where Phillip is.”
    She was not a devotee of irony. She waved dismissal with a lovely hand that had never seen a day’s labor in its life. “The man is obviously lying. He’s lazy. He knows he doesn’t have any duties to perform as long as his master isn’t here. I don’t for a moment believe that his lordship would send his valet ahead because he wanted to explore the countryside. And alone, of all things. It is absurd. What is there to explore? It is winter. It is not London or even Bath. There is nothing to be explored. You must deal with this, Charles. You must speak to him again, really question him closely this time, realizing what he is.”
    It was either leave the room or strangle her. Charles motioned to a footman to refill Miss Elliott’s glass. That was it, he’d get her dead drunk. That