Read Online Wild Passion by Lori Brighton - Free Book Online Page A

stumbled forward, her boots whispering
across the icy cobbled road. Desperately, she grasped onto the
wagon edge. For a brief moment she played with the thought that
perhaps Papa had returned to help her load the crates. Or perhaps
she was merely fishing for an excuse because deep down she knew, she knew, someone was behind her.
    Her breath came out in clouds of white that hung
suspended in the chill air as she wrestled with her fear. This was
London, a place full of people so desperate they’d do anything for
a coin or two. Hadn’t someone snatched her reticule from her hands
only yesterday?
    Flurries, caught by the wind, kissed the back of her
exposed neck, urging her to turn…turn. Her breath hitched and her
pulse thumped a dance in time to the flickering street lamps that
lined the cobbled lane.
    Ridiculous, she was being utterly ridiculous. It was
merely a beggar, down on his luck. She’d seen Papa deal with needy
men hundreds of times. She knew from past experiences that she
could handle whatever situation the good Lord threw her way.
    Meg cleared her throat. “H…Hello?” Her voice, hollow
and mournful, bounced against the stone cottages that lined the
street, and echoed through the town.
    No one answered.
    Unable to resist, she pushed away from the wagon and
turned. A cloaked woman stood in the middle of the lane, a small
girl by her side.
    Shock gave way to relief, sweet and swift. How silly
she’d been! Meg pressed her hand to her racing heart and resisted
the urge to laugh at her own ridiculousness. Not an evil man in
search of innocent prey, but merely a woman with a child who
couldn’t have been much more than six years of age.
    Still, shocking all the same. Although the hood of
the woman’s fine cloak hid her face, Meg knew by the cut of her
gown the woman was from wealth. Dressed in a blue velvet gown, the
child was her miniature version.
    “Good eve,” she said in an overly cheerful voice,
although it was much too late to be considered evening.
    Meg pushed a dark lock from her forehead, her
amusement fading. Yet they were still…so incredibly still that one
could mistake them for statues in Hyde Park. What were they doing
here in the east end of London in the middle of the night? Were
they lost? In need of assistance? They were certainly no
washerwomen or hawkers.
    Meg crossed her arms, attempting to gather what
little warmth she could from her own arms. Without much thought to
her own safety, she moved forward, her boots sinking into thick
snow that crunched loudly underfoot. “Can I help you?”
    The woman shifted, as if spurred forward by the sound
of Meg’s voice, only to pause under the soft glow of the lamplight.
Although it was only a few steps, the movement sent her hood
backward, revealing raven hair and porcelain face so pale and
perfect that Meg wasn’t sure which surprised her more, the woman’s
beauty or sudden appearance. Shock gave way to envy.
    Suddenly aware of her loose, tangled curls and worn
dress, Meg paused uncomfortably, barely aware of the biting wind.
“Is there someone with whom you wish to speak?”
    The woman didn’t respond. Meg’s worry burst anew.
There was something in her appearance that disturbed… Something in
the exhausted stoop of her shoulders… Something in the very anxious
air that stirred around them…
    With the child’s hand in hers the woman shuffled
forward once more. One step…two… slowly, like one aged and
decrepit, yet she couldn’t have been much older than Meg’s twenty
one years.
    Wrong. Something was terribly wrong .
    She didn’t pause until she reached next pool of
lamplight. Brilliant, eerie green eyes glowed from beneath thick,
black lashes. Eyes that met Meg’s gaze and seemed to penetrate her
very soul.
    “ Au secours .” The wind carried the woman’s
whispered words.
    French? Meg shook her head, unsure. “I’m sorry.”
Desperate for help, she glanced at the stone church looming next to
her, wishing Papa would appear.