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

“But I don’t understand.” She
rubbed her brow, an ache beginning to form behind her skull. “We’re
not from here, you see. Merely visiting London, but would you like
me to find the Vicar��”
    The woman’s legs gave out, her body folding like a
building collapsing into a velvet heap.
    Meg gasped and raced the last few steps, her skirt
whipping around her ankles and doing everything in their power to
slow her progress. “Good Heavens!”
    The dark blue of her dress contrasted brilliantly
against the snow, angry flakes pelting her thin body. Meg sank to
the ground with a thud that jarred her knees. The woman’s pale face
practically faded into the snow, ethereal, unearthly.
    “Papa!” Meg cried out, praying he’d hear her call.
“Vicar Beazley!” But the ruthless wind merely took her words and
tossed them into the cloudless night. Intending to stand, Meg
pushed her hands into the snow, the ice soaking her mittens and
stinging her sensitive flesh. “Let me find help.”
    The woman’s lips parted, those green, glowing eyes
coming to rest on Meg’s face. “He’s coming.”
    Meg froze. Through the eerie howl of the wind, the
woman’s words were barely audible. But Meg heard them as if she’d
shouted.
    He’s coming.
    Icy fear trickled through her body, drip by drip.
“Who’s coming?” She dared a glance down the empty street where
whirlwinds of snow danced wickedly up and down the lane as if
mocking their plight.
    “ S’il vous plait ,” the woman said, ignoring
her question. “My little Colette. Please.”
    Meg spared the child a quick glance. She was
trembling; her round face so innocent, so pure that she reminded
Meg of her younger sister Sally. Compassion compelled Meg to move.
“Yes, yes, your daughter.”
    She jumped to her feet, tripping over her skirts in
her haste to reach the child. Colette’s hands were ice-cold. Meg
pulled her forward, into the warmth of her woolen cloak. For once,
London was empty. No one lurked on the corners, threatening danger.
So why did the hair on the back of her neck still stand on end?
    “She’s here. Your child is here.” Meg started to
reach for the woman when she noticed a halo… like a satiny poppy,
soaking the snow and spreading around the woman’s body.
    Blood.
    The lamplight lining the lane blurred. The walls of
the church faded. In her mind’s eyes she sat on the bed next to
Julia.
    “ Help me, Meg.” Her sister’s large eyes
pleaded. But Meg couldn’t help; she couldn’t do a damn thing
but watch Julia bleed to death, her red blood soaking the bed
sheets until she was drained white.
    Meg’s body wavered, the thin link to her sanity
growing weak. Julia disappeared and suddenly Meg was back on that
road, the unforgiving winter wind sinking its bitter teeth into her
exposed skin.
    “Help me,” someone whispered.
    Meg rubbed her brow, forcing herself to focus. Not
Julia. No. A stranger. But someone in need all the same. She
tightened her hold on the child.
    The woman latched onto Meg’s wrist with surprising
strength. “Take care of my daughter. Hide her.”
    It was not a question, but a demand made by a mother
desperate for help. Before Meg could agree or disagree, the woman
released her hold and reached for Colette.
    “ Mon bebe, ” the woman whispered.
    At the contact, Collette came to life. Her lower lip
trembled, a murmured whimper escaping her bow mouth. Confused, Meg
shook her head. It was mad. The woman was receiving her last rites
when they should have been focused on finding the injury.
    “Please, let me help.” Without waiting for
permission, Meg nudged her way closer, determined to find the
wound.
    The woman merely smiled; the soft, sad smile of a
fallen angel. “It is too late.” Tears glistened in her eyes,
wetness that clung to her dark lashes, then trailed slowly down her
white cheeks.
    Meg shifted impatiently. “Please, just…”
    No, the woman wasn’t crying. The liquid was too dark
for tears. Dark trails that