Read Online The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake by Patricia Veryan - Free Book Online Page A

at the trigger. “So it is,” he said, standing well clear of the wavering muzzle. “Now if you will just keep still, my foiled assassin—”
    Instead, she jerked free, then jumped back.
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, have a care!” exclaimed Adair. “That Manton likely has a hair-trigger, and—”
    â€œI should have known it would fail me,” she cried bitterly. “I hate guns!”
    â€œYet were prepared to fire one.”
    She gave him a contemptuous glance. “Oh, I would not have, of course. Even for my dearest friend. You counted on that weakness, didn’t you?”
    â€œI’d count on it with less apprehension if you would stop waving the pistol about.”
    For a moment she stood watching him, irresolute, then she said, “I suppose I had as well. My dear little Alice—I have failed you abominably!” She flung the weapon away from her with loathing.
    â€œHey!” shouted Adair, ducking.
    The pistol vanished into the swirling snow, but through that white curtain came a flash and a sharp retort.
    â€œOf all the shatter-brained things to do,” said Adair angrily. “Did no one ever tell you—” He stopped abruptly. Miss Cecily Somebody looked odd. In fact, she looked very odd indeed. She appeared to be shrinking even as she stared at him, her eyes huge in a suddenly dead-white face.
    He leapt forward and caught her as she crumpled.
    â€œOh, dear,” she whispered, and fainted.
    *   *   *
    â€œIf you dare lay one finger on me,” panted Miss Cecily, her right hand holding the collar of her blouse tightly closed, “I pr-promise you will … regret it!”
    Adair set down the pan of melted snow he had managed to heat on the fire. When he’d attempted to carry the girl into the bedchamber of this isolated two-room cottage she had set up a screech that would have wakened the dead and had insisted on being laid on the sofa.
    â€œYou will be more like to regret it if I do not,” he answered coolly.
    â€œThat is the—the thanks I get for g-guiding you to this cottage.”
    â€œWhich will protect us from freezing, I hope. But I’ve done no more than wind my handkerchief about your arm. The wound must be cleansed and properly bandaged.” He stepped purposefully towards the shabby sofa.
    â€œStay back!” She shrank away, her eyes—a blue-grey which he thought quite beautiful when they were not hurling hatred—were very wide and betraying fear as well as pain. “Much you care for my needs! You left me to bleed to death for—for hours, and now pretend to—”
    â€œIt was a few minutes only. I had to get the horses into the lean-to. Thank the Lord there is one! I value my grey.”
    â€œWhereas my life counts for nought! Charming! And it did not take that long to tend the horses!”
    â€œNo, but we needed firewood. Whoever lives here has not kept up the woodpile.”
    â€œIt was a gardener’s cottage. But—but my cousin stays here some—often.”
    â€œDoes he. Well, I am here at your disposal now, if you will stop wasting more time with this nonsense.”
    She muttered something fretfully, and he felt a pang of sympathy. It must have been a strain for her to decide to murder him, and now she had been painfully injured. He took off his cloak and flung it over a straight-backed chair. “Be sensible, Miss Cecily, or whatever your name is, and let me—”
    â€œI am Miss Hall. And—and I have brothers. Five. And all—very fine sh-shots.”
    â€œI wonder they did not teach you more about duelling pistols and hair-triggers.” He smiled and said gently, “Yes, I understand that I am a monster and naturally you do not want a monster to tend you. To say truth, this monster would be very glad to let someone else do the business. But there is no one else at hand, and we must count our blessings,