Amanda Scott Read Online Free

“all-hide” with errant white clouds since shortly after the ceremony. But Anne had no wish to talk about the weather, and since Lord Michael clearly did not intend either to volunteer information about his family or to encourage questions about Upminster Priory, she was at a loss. The thought of spending the next few hours in close proximity with a man who did not want to talk was daunting but not nearly so daunting as the thought of spending the rest of her life with him.
    The chaise moved rapidly now, but it was well sprung, and did not sway much, for which she was grateful. She was a good traveler, but despite the increasing wind, the day was still warm and the road dusty. She knew that had the chaise been the sort to rattle her bones, she would have fallen victim to one of her annoying headaches long before they reached their destination.
    She made no further effort to engage him in conversation, entertaining herself instead by watching the passing scenery, anticipating the moment when she would begin to see landscape and villages that were unfamiliar to her. The clouds grew grayer and more ominous, but the fields were green with new growth and the hedges alive with chirping birds and new color. She loved the springtime. They passed through thick woodlands of oak and silver birch, heavily populated with red deer and grouse, and traveled across lovely open moorland carpeted with bright new grass and bushy, dark green heather.
    They traveled as swiftly as the condition of the roads allowed, and at Matlock, the red marls, gravel, and sandstone of south Derbyshire began to give way to limestone and gritstone, quickly noticeable because the road itself turned from reddish brown and tan to gray and pebbly white. As the lovely midland moors were replaced by steeper stone-walled hills and dales, lush, waist-high, emerging cornfields fell behind, giving way to harsher, higher grass country. The air was cooler now, and the wind-ravaged sky grew darker. Thunder muttered from glowering dark gray clouds roiling up behind the peaks to the north. At first the sound was barely discernible above hoof-beats and rattling wheels, but then the thunder groaned louder, belched, and roared to a crescendo, its echoes buffeting from rock to rock down the narrow valley through which they drove. Anne became aware that the carpetbag at her feet was moving.
    The first plaintive cry, she hoped, reached only her ears. Surreptitiously, she moved her foot, gently caressing the side of the bag. The resulting silence reassured her, but that silence continued only while she moved her foot. When she stopped, there was instant complaint.
    “What was that?” her companion asked.
    Anne hesitated, unsure of how he would react to learning that the chaise contained a third occupant. Before she could think how to phrase the information, there came another clap of thunder, a yowl from the carpetbag, and Lord Michael leaned down and picked it up. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he opened the bag and peered inside. To her astonishment, when the kitten’s furry black head popped up, he laughed, and the stern expression vanished. He said, “What have we here?”
    Juliette looked at him, wide-eyed and trembling, but another sharp crack of thunder galvanized the kitten. With a cry of terror, it turned and leapt toward Anne. Catching the lace trim of her low-cut gown, it clawed its way to the bodice edge, then tried to bury itself headfirst in the space between her breasts.
    Embarrassed, Anne grabbed Juliette and said guiltily, “I had to bring her, sir. She—” Juliette’s sharp claws turned the last word into a gasp of pain.
    Lord Michael reached for the kitten. “Here, let me.”
    “Oh, no—That is,” she added, leaning away, “I-I’m sure she will not go to you. Juliette, no!” The kitten’s sharp claws dug painfully into her breast. Others were caught in the lace, and when Anne tried to free herself, she seemed only to make matters worse.
    “Let