Read Online Too Wicked to Marry by Susan Sizemore - Free Book Online

foreign court. When Court did not take the documents immediately, Kestrel placed them on the desk in front of him. The letter on top of the pile was from Phoebe Gale.
    As Court picked it up, Kestrel said, "A letter of introduction from a mutual acquaintance, Sir Ian. My reason for imposing on your hospitality might seem a bit odd, and I hope Lady Phoebe's kind words will ease any strain and embarrassment on all sides."
    "Perhaps they will," Court said coolly, picking up a very sharp silver letter opener and slitting the top of the envelope. "If you'd let me read the letter."
    "Of course, Sir Ian, I—No. We have to talk, man to man." Kestrel leaned forward, placing his palms flat on the desktop, his muscles tense as stone.
    Court rose to his feet to look the man in the eye. There was a dangerous edge in the stranger's manner, but Court did not feel the least intimidated. Irritated, yes. The last place Kestrel should be was at Skye Court, and he had every intention of seeing the man on his way as swiftly as possible. "Young man, if you would kindly—"
    "I really don't have time for the niceties after coming so far," the world-renowned diplomat snapped. "Where's Abigail? I've come to take her home, and that's all there is to it."
    Court kept his expression carefully blank. "Abigail?"
    "Miss Abigail Perry. Lady Phoebe told me she would come here."
    "And what," Court inquired, mild words masking rising ire, "is Abigail Perry to you?"
    "My governess."
    "I would not think a man of your years would require a governess."
    "My daughter's governess."
    "Did you bring your daughter with you?"
    "What? No. Of course not."
    "Then I don't see why you think you require the services of a governess."
    Martin could see that this Sir Ian MacLeod was being deliberately, infuriatingly obtuse and obstructive. He had not come all this way, especially the last several, wretched, bone-wrenching miles, to be thwarted at the last moment so close to his goal. "I have private business with Miss Perry," he said, as calmly as he could manage. "Please read the letter in your hand."
    When he was done reading, Sir Ian slowly stroked his chin. He spoke with equal slowness, appearing completely puzzled. "Why would Lady Phoebe send you here?"
    The man was a fine actor, Martin concluded as he looked at the man on the other side of the desk, but Martin was certain MacLeod knew why Lady Phoebe had directed Martin to his home. Sir Ian was a big, square-built man, still fit, and with a thick head of hair though he must be somewhere in his fifties. There was a familiar look to the man's eyes Martin found disturbing. They were light eyes, blue-green, the sort of eyes that changed color depending on surroundings and mood. Right now they were the green of an angry ocean, totally at odds with Sir Ian's perplexed expression.
    "
I
am concerned about Miss Perry's welfare," Martin said.
    "That is commendable."
    "I need to know that she arrived here safely. That she is well. I need to know why—"
    Martin bit off the words. He did not know what Abigail had told her former employer, and did not wish to jeopardize her relationship with the MacLeod family. He was so frustrated he wanted to ransack the room or leap across the desk to shake her whereabouts from the other man. When Abigail had first disappeared, he'd almost welcomed pursuing her as a challenge his jaded wits desperately needed, but the hunt had soon stopped being an intellectual exercise. The longer he was away from her, the stronger became the desperate ache to touch her, hold her, keep her. His need for this one elusive woman was frightening in its intensity. He was obsessed, and he didn't care.
    And he had had quite enough of being thwarted by all these guardians at the gates. First Lady Phoebe and now this rustic squire stood between him and the woman he wanted.
    "See, here, my good man," he said. "All you need to do is send for the woman so I can talk to her."
    Sir Ian gave a chuckle that had very little