Read Online Worth Any Price by Lisa Kleypas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa Kleypas
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lord, forgive me. I went to watch the festival in the village, and—”
“You did more than watch, it appears,” LordWestcliff observed mildly, his keen gaze sweeping over her rustic attire.
“Yes, I took part in the Maypole dance. And Lord Sydney offered to escort me home—”
“Of course he did,” the earl said sardonically, taking another pull on his cigar. Blue-gray smoke whirled and eddied upward. “There is no need to look so distressed, Miss Miller. As far as I am concerned, you are not prohibited from seeking entertainment in the village—although it would doubtless be wise not to mention such activities to the dowager countess.” He gestured with his cigar. “You may go now, while I discuss a few things with Lord Sydney.”
Lottie nodded in cautious relief. “Yes, sir.” As she began to depart, she was astonished to feel Lord Sydney’s light, restraining hand on her arm.
“Wait.”
Lottie froze in utter confusion, her face flooding with color. She could not believe that he had dared to touch her in front of the earl. “My lord,” she murmured in protest.
Sydney did not return her glance; his gaze was fixed intently on the earl’s harsh features. “Before Miss Miller takes her leave, you had better tell me what this is about.”
“This is about your so-called family,” Lord Westcliff said softly. “And your so-called past.” The quiet words rang with condemnation. Lottie realized from the earl’s expression that something was very wrong.If any warmth had lingered from the enchanted moments in the forest, it vanished abruptly.
Bewildered, she stared at Lord Sydney. His face had changed somehow, no longer quite so handsome, but suddenly hard and cold. To behold him now, one would believe that this man was capable of anything. Suddenly, she could not believe that a few minutes ago she had kissed that stern mouth, that his hands had caressed her intimately. When he spoke, even his voice sounded different, his accent a bit coarser. The aristocratic veneer had been stripped away, revealing the stony layers beneath. “I would prefer to discuss this in a more private setting,” he said to the earl.
Westcliff inclined his head with icy courtesy. “There is a study in the family wing. Will that serve?”
“Yes.” Sydney paused deliberately before adding, “Miss Miller will accompany us.”
Lottie stared at him blankly. His request made no sense. Suddenly she felt cold all over, and a shiver chased down her spine. “Why?” she asked through dry lips.
“She has nothing to do with this,” Lord Westcliff said curtly, rising from his chair.
Lord Sydney’s face was dark and still. “She has everything to do with it.”
Lottie felt herself turn white. The entire surface of her body seemed to prickle and burn, as if she had fallen into a frozen pond. She found it difficult to speak or move as a paralyzing suspicion crept over her.
The earl dropped his cigar to the terrace and crushed it with his foot. A touch of uncharacteristic impatience edged his tone. “Miss Miller, will you be so kind as to join us? It seems that we have a small mystery to solve.”
Nodding in a puppetlike fashion, Lottie followed the earl into the house, while her instincts screamed for her to flee. She had little choice but to play the scene out, however. Forcing herself to behave calmly, she went with the two men to the private study, its rosewood paneling glowing ruddily in the lamplight. The room was hard and uncompromising, with minimal upholstery and sharp angles, and no ornamentation save for a pristine row of stained glass windows.
As Lord Westcliff closed the door, Lottie took care to keep as great a distance between herself and Sydney as possible. A sense of foreboding nearly made her ill. She could not bring herself to look directly at Lord Sydney, but she was intensely aware of him.
Lord Westcliff spoke. “Will you have a seat, Miss Miller?”
Lottie shook her head dumbly, afraid that if she
“You did more than watch, it appears,” LordWestcliff observed mildly, his keen gaze sweeping over her rustic attire.
“Yes, I took part in the Maypole dance. And Lord Sydney offered to escort me home—”
“Of course he did,” the earl said sardonically, taking another pull on his cigar. Blue-gray smoke whirled and eddied upward. “There is no need to look so distressed, Miss Miller. As far as I am concerned, you are not prohibited from seeking entertainment in the village—although it would doubtless be wise not to mention such activities to the dowager countess.” He gestured with his cigar. “You may go now, while I discuss a few things with Lord Sydney.”
Lottie nodded in cautious relief. “Yes, sir.” As she began to depart, she was astonished to feel Lord Sydney’s light, restraining hand on her arm.
“Wait.”
Lottie froze in utter confusion, her face flooding with color. She could not believe that he had dared to touch her in front of the earl. “My lord,” she murmured in protest.
Sydney did not return her glance; his gaze was fixed intently on the earl’s harsh features. “Before Miss Miller takes her leave, you had better tell me what this is about.”
“This is about your so-called family,” Lord Westcliff said softly. “And your so-called past.” The quiet words rang with condemnation. Lottie realized from the earl’s expression that something was very wrong.If any warmth had lingered from the enchanted moments in the forest, it vanished abruptly.
Bewildered, she stared at Lord Sydney. His face had changed somehow, no longer quite so handsome, but suddenly hard and cold. To behold him now, one would believe that this man was capable of anything. Suddenly, she could not believe that a few minutes ago she had kissed that stern mouth, that his hands had caressed her intimately. When he spoke, even his voice sounded different, his accent a bit coarser. The aristocratic veneer had been stripped away, revealing the stony layers beneath. “I would prefer to discuss this in a more private setting,” he said to the earl.
Westcliff inclined his head with icy courtesy. “There is a study in the family wing. Will that serve?”
“Yes.” Sydney paused deliberately before adding, “Miss Miller will accompany us.”
Lottie stared at him blankly. His request made no sense. Suddenly she felt cold all over, and a shiver chased down her spine. “Why?” she asked through dry lips.
“She has nothing to do with this,” Lord Westcliff said curtly, rising from his chair.
Lord Sydney’s face was dark and still. “She has everything to do with it.”
Lottie felt herself turn white. The entire surface of her body seemed to prickle and burn, as if she had fallen into a frozen pond. She found it difficult to speak or move as a paralyzing suspicion crept over her.
The earl dropped his cigar to the terrace and crushed it with his foot. A touch of uncharacteristic impatience edged his tone. “Miss Miller, will you be so kind as to join us? It seems that we have a small mystery to solve.”
Nodding in a puppetlike fashion, Lottie followed the earl into the house, while her instincts screamed for her to flee. She had little choice but to play the scene out, however. Forcing herself to behave calmly, she went with the two men to the private study, its rosewood paneling glowing ruddily in the lamplight. The room was hard and uncompromising, with minimal upholstery and sharp angles, and no ornamentation save for a pristine row of stained glass windows.
As Lord Westcliff closed the door, Lottie took care to keep as great a distance between herself and Sydney as possible. A sense of foreboding nearly made her ill. She could not bring herself to look directly at Lord Sydney, but she was intensely aware of him.
Lord Westcliff spoke. “Will you have a seat, Miss Miller?”
Lottie shook her head dumbly, afraid that if she
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