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

should shuther up, maybe even send her to her bed with a headache. Dambler’s story that the viscount wanted to roam Yorkshire didn’t seem at all strange to him. He’d known Phillip since Eton. He’d always gone his own way. But in this instance, he thought it wildly unlikely that he was lying somewhere in the snow, lost and alone and freezing to death. Phillip wasn’t the type of man to lose himself anywhere, unless, of course, he wished it. He felt Teresa’s fingers tug at the sleeve of his exquisite coat that Gautier of Paris had fashioned exclusively for him.
    â€œUnfortunately you are a man, Charles, and thus you don’t wish to heed my warnings. I’m getting dire feelings about this. Very dire. Will you promise to send out a search party for Phillip in the morning?”
    Charles gently disengaged his sleeve. Her sharp fingernails had left a pucker in the soft velvet. His valet would have a fit. He began smoothing it out as he said, “Teresa, as long as this blizzard continues, it simply isn’t safe to send out anyone. They would themselves become lost within feet of the front gate. No, we must wait until the storm blows itself out, then if Phillip doesn’t come, we will search.” He looked at her lovely white throat. He pictured his fingers wrapped around that lovely white throat. He sighed, adopting a placating voice that worked each and every time with his mother. Whenever he used the voice, she called him her dear boy. “Come, there is nothing we can do now. Would you care for some cards? Perhaps some dancing?”
    She drank down more of his late father’s excellent champagne. A small smile played over his mouth. Actually, truth be told, he thought it more than likely that at this very moment, Phillip was probably quite at his ease in some inn or in a nearby residence, downing warm ale and seducing the prettiest girl about.Since Phillip had returned from the Peninsula, suffering a wound in his shoulder from the battle of Ciudad Rodrigo, he had adopted the attitude that discomfort of any sort was to be avoided at all costs. He saw her thump down another empty glass. What was he to do? To say? He’d try it another way. “Don’t forget, Teresa, that Phillip was a soldier. Even if he did find himself caught unawares in the blizzard, he would have the good sense not to continue on his way to Moreland. I’m certain he’s well protected from the elements. Were it possible, I would imagine his very good manners would dictate that he send me a message. However, the blizzard is an effective dampener of manners.” With a flash of inspiration, Charles realized what he had not said. “You know, wherever he is, I know that Phillip must be missing you terribly.”
    He was a genius. He had scored a perfect hit. She preened. Oh, Lord, he mustn’t forget to beg the absent viscount’s pardon tonight in his prayers.
    â€œDo you really think, Charles, that Phillip is just at this very moment pining for me, that he is—”
    Charles was saved by the appearance of Edgar Plummer, a marvelous guest in his newly revised opinion, and his sister, Margaret. Plummer was old as dirt but he was smart. He liked Charles and thus sought to save him. Mr. Plummer bowed over Teresa’s hand. “Allow an old man to tell you how very lovely you look this evening, Miss Elliott. Won’t you please play the pianoforte for us?”
    She refused three times, the seemingly accepted number of refusals to denote modesty, then allowed Mr. Plummer to lead her to the pianoforte at the end of the long drawing room.
    â€œOh, goodness, Charlie, now we’re in for it. She’s going to play some more of her tedious Frenchballads. Just wait, I’ll wager she’ll dedicate them to poor Phillip.”
    Charles groaned. “Don’t say that, Margaret, she just might hear you.” He led his sister to a red brocade settee lovingly made for