Read Online The Perfect Stranger by Anne Gracíe - Free Book Online

stalk to. A castle, or a tower: a place from where she could sit and glare loftily down at him.
    Sitting on a rock, even quite a big, impressive sort of rock, did not have the desirable remoteness. Nor that feeling of solid impregnability combined with superiority that a tower in a castle could bestow on her. A rock on the next beach was not the sort of place from which you could extract a groveling apology.
    She hovered between fury and tears.
    “You will marry me” indeed! Did he think she was a complete fool? Totally gullible and naive? That she would fall—again!—for such an obvious ploy!
    She thought of the way he’d tended her injured feet last night—with gentle hands and a savage diatribe about her foolishness—and wanted to weep. With anger, of course. She would not give him the satisfaction of tears. Arrogant brute. And quite impossible, of course.
    Because even if he was sleeping under the stars, he was obviously not a poor man. His clothes and boots were of the best quality, and he traveled with a servant. He was educated and well-spoken and he had that air of command—not to mention arrogance!—that informed her he was a gentleman born.
    And what gentleman born would offer to marry a destitute woman of unknown background who, by her own confession, was a fallen woman? It was inconceivable, impossible. Ridiculous. And Faith would not stay to be mocked.
    Because even though she knew he hadn’t meant it, it hurt. And why on earth the careless words of a stranger she’d known for less than a day should be allowed to hurt her was something she didn’t care to think about.
    A tear rolled down her cheek. She dashed it angrily away. Stupid man! He probably thought it was a joke! She never wanted to speak to him again!
    The trouble was, her boots and her cloak were back at his campsite. She had no choice but to return. She set her jaw and marched around the small headland, determined to collect her belongings and leave in dignified silence.
    The campsite was deserted, though everything remained in place. The fire was still burning; in fact, something smoked dreadfully, and the stench was horrible. Faith peered through the smoke and gave a gasp of indignation.
    “My boots!” She stared in stupefaction. Her boots—or rather, what remained of them—were sitting in the middle of the fire, a blackened mass of misshapen, smoldering leather.
    She looked around for someone to blame, but the camp was still deserted. How dare he burn her boots! Now she was trapped here, for she’d already tried walking in bare feet, and once she stepped off the sand onto stony paths or prickly vegetation, it was impossible. Besides, she’d look even more of a beggar if she were barefoot. When she got her hands on Nicholas Blacklock she would—she would—! She clenched her fists angrily. She would force him to buy her a new pair of boots!
    She spotted Stevens fishing near the headland. She stormed down the beach toward him.
    “He’s gone into town with Mac, miss,” Stevens said the moment she came within earshot. “On business.”
    “He burned my boots!” she exclaimed indignantly.
    Stevens nodded. “Yes, miss, I saw him.”
    “But they were perfectly good boots!”
    “Yes, miss, that’s what I said, too.”
    “He had no right to burn them. They were my boots!”
    “Yes, miss. I think that’s why he burned them.”
    Faith clenched her fists. There was nothing worse than being angry and needing to yell at someone, and the only person available was not only innocent of any crime, but kept agreeing with you in the most infuriatingly placid way.
    “Do you know how to fish, miss?”
    “No, I don’t—” began Faith in frustration.
    “Here y’are then. It’s easy.” He shoved a fishing line into her hand. Faith was about to explain in no uncertain terms that she had no desire whatsoever to learn to fish, when he added, “Now that we’ve got an extra mouth to feed…”
    She shut the extra mouth and fished. After