Read Online The Shadows of Stormclyffe Hall by Lauren Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Lauren Smith
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pair of love seats face each other with a small table next to each where a tea tray could be placed for visitors. When I entered, I found Mr. Braxton perched on one of the two love seats. A maid set a tray of tea and biscuits on the table next to him.
“My lord!” Braxton got to his feet immediately, a genuine smile on his face. With ruddy cheeks and a muscled figure barely concealed by his tailored waistcoat, Braxton was a fit and amiable man.
“Welcome to my home, Mr. Braxton. I am delighted you were able to come and meet with me.” I immediately sought out the man’s daughter, expecting a plump, whey-faced creature. The woman stood in the far corner with her back to me as she admired my books.
My first thought was how lovely her figure was. When she turned to face me, my heart stopped. The world came to an abrupt halt. I couldn’t breathe. She was so beautiful, something deep in my chest began to hurt. There was a fire in her eyes and warmth in her smile. The blush in her cheeks was becoming, and the dark curls that framed her face accented her creamy skin. I was lost to her in that moment. I wondered if I could ever want another woman except her.
“My lord.” Miss Braxton’s voice was husky and a little breathless, as though she was reacting to me much in the same way I reacted to her. I hoped so. I did not wish to be the only one so completely affected.
“Miss Braxton, it is a pleasure.” I strode up to her and bent over the hand she offered hesitantly. I pressed a kiss to her skin. The scent of rosewater filled my nose. The delicate perfume was a perfect accent to the woman who wore it.
“Thank you for extending an offer to visit.” Mr. Braxton appeared at his daughter’s side, reminding me that Miss Braxton and I were not alone, no matter how much I might wish we were.
“Of course. Please sit.” I gestured to the settees, and we all took our seats.
I spent the next hour conversing with Braxton about Weymouth and how best to settle in with the local folk. Unlike many of the other inns in the county, Braxton’s accommodations were of a higher quality, and many aristocrats would likely wish to stay at the new inn as they passed through on their way to the other parts of England. Despite the conversation distracting me, I managed to keep my eyes on Miss Braxton. I relished the way she kept glancing at my books with keen interest. I suspected she must be a lady who enjoyed reading and wasn’t merely a fair-faced creature with no real thoughts in her head. Women with no interests and no intellectual pursuits held no appeal for me.
As the conversation came to its natural end, I bid my guests good-bye with the invitation for them to return on the morrow for dinner. As I watched Miss Braxton and her father depart, a piece of my soul seemed to separate from my body and accompany her home. I had never felt such a kindred spirit in anyone, man or woman. Come the morrow, I knew I would be desperate for a glimpse of her. Dinner could not come soon enough.
Chapter Four
Jane pulled herself out of the story in the journal. Richard’s journal. This was an invaluable primary source. A direct account written in Richard’s own hand. Maybe the true story to the tragedy lurked somewhere in these pages. She looked over at the inconspicuous location where the journal had been hiding between two boring collections of philosophical essays by long-forgotten authors. It was possible the diary had been there for years, and no one had noticed it. The book’s spine was blank, and to a casual reader perusing books, it held no particular appeal or attraction. If Bastian ever found out his ancestor’s handwritten account of his life was here, he’d probably lock it up and never let her see it. He had told her she wouldn’t have access to the family’s private papers. A family journal would most likely be considered private.
A little voice whispered dark thoughts in her head. Take the journal. Put it in your bag and
“My lord!” Braxton got to his feet immediately, a genuine smile on his face. With ruddy cheeks and a muscled figure barely concealed by his tailored waistcoat, Braxton was a fit and amiable man.
“Welcome to my home, Mr. Braxton. I am delighted you were able to come and meet with me.” I immediately sought out the man’s daughter, expecting a plump, whey-faced creature. The woman stood in the far corner with her back to me as she admired my books.
My first thought was how lovely her figure was. When she turned to face me, my heart stopped. The world came to an abrupt halt. I couldn’t breathe. She was so beautiful, something deep in my chest began to hurt. There was a fire in her eyes and warmth in her smile. The blush in her cheeks was becoming, and the dark curls that framed her face accented her creamy skin. I was lost to her in that moment. I wondered if I could ever want another woman except her.
“My lord.” Miss Braxton’s voice was husky and a little breathless, as though she was reacting to me much in the same way I reacted to her. I hoped so. I did not wish to be the only one so completely affected.
“Miss Braxton, it is a pleasure.” I strode up to her and bent over the hand she offered hesitantly. I pressed a kiss to her skin. The scent of rosewater filled my nose. The delicate perfume was a perfect accent to the woman who wore it.
“Thank you for extending an offer to visit.” Mr. Braxton appeared at his daughter’s side, reminding me that Miss Braxton and I were not alone, no matter how much I might wish we were.
“Of course. Please sit.” I gestured to the settees, and we all took our seats.
I spent the next hour conversing with Braxton about Weymouth and how best to settle in with the local folk. Unlike many of the other inns in the county, Braxton’s accommodations were of a higher quality, and many aristocrats would likely wish to stay at the new inn as they passed through on their way to the other parts of England. Despite the conversation distracting me, I managed to keep my eyes on Miss Braxton. I relished the way she kept glancing at my books with keen interest. I suspected she must be a lady who enjoyed reading and wasn’t merely a fair-faced creature with no real thoughts in her head. Women with no interests and no intellectual pursuits held no appeal for me.
As the conversation came to its natural end, I bid my guests good-bye with the invitation for them to return on the morrow for dinner. As I watched Miss Braxton and her father depart, a piece of my soul seemed to separate from my body and accompany her home. I had never felt such a kindred spirit in anyone, man or woman. Come the morrow, I knew I would be desperate for a glimpse of her. Dinner could not come soon enough.
Chapter Four
Jane pulled herself out of the story in the journal. Richard’s journal. This was an invaluable primary source. A direct account written in Richard’s own hand. Maybe the true story to the tragedy lurked somewhere in these pages. She looked over at the inconspicuous location where the journal had been hiding between two boring collections of philosophical essays by long-forgotten authors. It was possible the diary had been there for years, and no one had noticed it. The book’s spine was blank, and to a casual reader perusing books, it held no particular appeal or attraction. If Bastian ever found out his ancestor’s handwritten account of his life was here, he’d probably lock it up and never let her see it. He had told her she wouldn’t have access to the family’s private papers. A family journal would most likely be considered private.
A little voice whispered dark thoughts in her head. Take the journal. Put it in your bag and
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