Read Online Too Sinful to Deny by Erica Ridley - Free Book Online Page A

attention without flat-out interrupting.
    “When did you see him last?” Mr. Forrester was asking.
    The porcelain doll rolled her eyes. “One doesn’t keep tabs on one’s grown brother.”
    “Especially a will-o’-the-wisp like Joshua.” The witch picked at the spines of her umbrella. “He’s here. He’s gone. And then you wonder if he was ever here at all.”
    “Excuse me,” Susan put in when they lapsed into thoughtful silence. “Could one of you direct me to Moonseed Manor?”
    “It’s at the top of the cliff,” the witch said, pointing out the obvious.
    “Yes, I know, but—”
    “Didn’t you come from there?” asked the porcelain doll with an equally amused expression.
    “Yes, but I—”
    “The easiest way,” said Mr. Forrester in what he probably thought was a helpful tone, “might be to go back up along the same path you came down.”
    “And you know, I considered that,” Susan said through clenched teeth. “But as the entire path slid down the cliff behind me, I suspect an alternate route back to the top might be in order.”
    The porcelain doll choked on a giggle. “You didn’t take—”
    “She did,” crowed the witch. “She must have.”
    “Bothwick’s the only one reckless enough to cut down that way.” The porcelain doll shook her perfect head. “Next time I see him, I’ll—”
    “I thought you weren’t seeing him anymore.” The witch’s eyes lit with mischief.
    “That doesn’t mean I won’t see him,” the porcelain doll snapped. “It’s not as though there’s an overabundance of crowds to lose oneself in around here.”
    “So . . .” Susan prompted. “The path I should be taking is . . .”
    The women ignored her and continued bickering.
    She affixed her desperate gaze on the cherubic Mr. Forrester.
    He smiled apologetically. “I’d take you myself if I knew the area.”
    The bearded ghost leapt between them and began gesticulating wildly, pointing at himself, then the others, then back to himself.
    Susan pushed up her spectacles and tried to focus on Mr. Forrester. “You’re not from around here, then?”
    “I am from around here, but not from Bournemouth itself.”
    “Mr. Forrester is our local magistrate,” said the porcelain doll, peering up at him from beneath lowered lashes.
    “He serves several towns in the area,” added the witch, looking very much as though she’d like to stab her fawning companion with her parasol. “He’s not just ours.”
    Mr. Forrester appeared charmingly uncomfortable at the interplay beside him. “I live in Christchurch. I try to visit Bournemouth at least once or twice a month to see if my services are required.”
    The ghost was once again doing everything but handstands before her face, but Susan’s mind was busy processing this new information.
    One couldn’t ask for a more upstanding citizen than a magistrate. And she couldn’t ask for a better acquaintance than one with a horse. It was now more imperative than ever that Mr. Forrester think only the best of her. Although he didn’t know it yet, he was her ticket to the nearest posting-house the moment her allowance arrived.
    “I understand.” Susan gave him her most gracious ton smile. “Don’t worry—I’m sure I’ll find my way back home.”
    He cocked his head, then turned away from the other ladies and proffered his arm. “Tell you what, Miss Stanton. If two heads are better than one, what do you say we give it a go together? If we can’t find our way to Moonseed Manor, I’m sure I for one will at least have had the pleasure of enjoyable company.”
    If the porcelain doll’s expression was any indication of her emotional state, her beautiful face was about to shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.
    “Oh, bother,” she pouted. “She can find it. It’s not that hard.”
    The witch gestured toward the door with the handle of her parasol. “Behind the big pile of driftwood a dozen yards from the shop, there’s a footpath leading up the cliff.