Anne Barbour Read Online Free Page B

certainly—”
    He stopped, suddenly, and turned swiftly. He stood rooted for a full minute, staring at the girl before him.
    Diana returned his gaze in growing bewilderment and anger.
    “Sir, you must believe—”
    She, too, stopped, with equal suddenness, as the earl grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her to stand before a large window, through which the morning sun streamed into the room. To Diana’s fury, he turned her slowly about, examining her from head to toe.
    “Now, see here ...” she began, but his lordship thrust her from him and turned to pace the carpet.
    “Be quiet! I must think.”
    He continued to travel the rug in ever-decreasing circles while Diana stood in fulminating silence. He stopped again, and once more came to stand before her, staring at her as though he were considering the purchase of an objet d’art.
    “Please be silent and listen to me. Perhaps you may escape the roundhouse after all, for I have a proposition for you.”
    Diana made a choking sound, her hand lifted in a protective gesture.
    Lord Burnleigh’s smile was not pleasant.
    “Spare me your maidenly blushes, my charming doxie, for I have no designs on your very doubtful virtue. I do not want you for a light o’love. I want you for my fiancée.”
     

Chapter 3
     
    “Your fiancée!” Diana fairly rocked on her heels in astonishment. Was the man deranged? “My lord, I cannot have heard you correctly! What—”
    The earl interrupted with a brusque gesture.
    “I am not offering you a proposal of marriage, of course. What I meant was ...”
    He broke off. She was eyeing him as though he were a dangerous lunatic. He resumed in a quieter voice.
    “Please. Sit down and let me explain.”
    Despite the seeming courtesy of his words, Diana could find only detached calculation in his face. His dark eyes commanded, and she seated herself on the edge of a chair.
    “Stonefield Court,” began Lord Burnleigh, “is the primary seat of Peter Talent, the Marquess of Chamford. Lord Chamford is my grandfather. Several days ago he took a spring chill, and was unable to shake it. Despite all efforts, he fell into an inflammation of the lungs, and has now passed all hope of recovery. At this moment”— here the icy voice harshened—“he lies abovestairs, dying.”
    “Oh!” Despite herself, Diana lifted her hand toward the earl in sympathy. The gesture seemed in no way welcome to him, and he continued as though he had not seen it.
    “Perhaps I should also mention that I am Lord Chamford’s heir, my father having been killed in a hunting accident some sixteen years ago. The matter of succession has been of great concern to my grandfather of late. I am unmarried, and my younger brother, Simon, is in the Army. The next in line for the title is a distant cousin, now residing in the Indies. When Simon was transferred to the Peninsula, my grandfather took a maggot into his head that Simon was sure to be carried off by a French ball. Grandfather relaxed somewhat when Napoleon was defeated, for Simon scraped through the entire war with nothing worse than a saber nick. However, when word reached us last week of the Corsican Monster’s escape from Elba, all his fears returned. He now envisions Simon slain in some future battle.”
    The earl turned to pace the floor, running strong fingers through his crisply curling hair. Watching him, Diana was acutely aware of the man’s almost mesmerizing masculinity. She forced her attention to his words.
    “To me his concern seemed unnecessary. That is— Grandfather was always so alive! It seemed as though there was plenty of time for . . .”
    The earl stopped, and for the first time, Diana observed signs of uncertainty in his demeanor. He turned to face the fireplace.
    “He is in torment. He tosses constantly, muttering about Stonefield passing from Talent hands ...” The earl swung around to face Diana.
    “Do you see what I require of you?”
    His voice was harsh with strain, and Diana