Barbara Metzger Read Online Free

arrogantly raised eyebrow, and the confident tilt to the chin. “Make your bows, Ken, and show the earl in.”
    “Yes’m,” the boy answered, making a creditable bow and politely holding the gate for Rockford to pass through. “This way, my lord.”
    Rockford was surprised, and not just by the boy’s good manners. The widow seemed younger than he’d thought, barely thirty, he’d guess. She was not as flamboyantly beautiful or full-breasted as he’d expected from an ambitious highflier, either. In fact, she seemed almost demure in her plain high-necked gray gown with the barest hint of ribbon for trim. Gray was not the color he would pick for mistress material, nor did it suit Mrs. Henning’s pale coloring and neatly coiled light brown hair. She ought to be wearing green, to match her truly fine eyes, or scarlet, to proclaim her profession.
    Trying to keep his rekindled anger in check, Rockford gestured for Fred to walk the horses while he followed the widow through the doorway of her cottage. The first thing he noticed was the welcome warmth, then the smell of baking gingerbread. The small parlor was simply furnished but tidy, except for some piles of books. At least William was not being held prisoner in some foul hovel. In fact, he seemed fond of the woman, clinging to her skirts while he peered up at Rockford. The earl tried to smile for the boy’s sake, as if to say, “I am here. You are safe. All will be well.” William shyly smiled back, showing a gap where his front teeth should be. Rockford hoped that was normal.
    “Will you be seated, my lord? Perhaps you would like some tea to take the chill from the day?” Mrs. Henning asked in carefully modulated tones, with no hint of an accent. But then Fred had said she was well educated.
    “No, thank you,” he replied, amazed that he could hold polite conversation with this vulture in dove’s clothing. “I will not be staying and do not want to track mud onto your floor.”
    She smiled, making her seem even younger and prettier. Now Rockford could see how Hysmith’s son had been caught, and why that old goat Ganyon was so moonstruck. “With boys and bad weather,” she said, “a little dirt is inevitable. I do not mind, truly, if you make yourself comfortable.”
    Rockford had been around far too long to fall into that trap. He stayed by the door. She took up a stance by the mantel, tousling William’s fair curls to dry them by the warmth of the fire. If he was jealous, Rockford told himself, it was for the fire’s heat, not her gentle, seemingly loving touch. “My business will not take long,” he said, more gruffly than he intended. “I want my son back.”
    “Of course you do. He is a fine boy. But are you sure…? That is, have you made the proper arrangements? You do realize a boy cannot simply be left with servants, my lord. He needs—”
    “I assure you, I am fully aware of what the son of an earl requires for a proper upbringing.” He raised his eyebrow at the tiny cottage. “I assure you, this is not it.”
    She gasped at his plain speaking. “I have done the best I could, my lord.”
    “Aye, the best you could to feather your own nest, I’ll warrant.”
    She gasped again, and the older boy, Kendall, started forward, his small hands clenched into fists at his side. William cowered behind Mrs. Henning. She started to protest, to claim her innocence, Rockford supposed, despite all the evidence, but he held up his hand. “Enough. I want my boy, and I want him now. If you cause any trouble, I am prepared to go to the magistrate, or worse.” He let his hand rest on the grip of his pistol at his waist, so she could not mistake his intentions.
    Deathly pale now, she gathered both boys closer to her side, as if to protect them from a madman with a gun. “You may take your son, of course, because that is your right, no matter how bad a parent you might be. As soon as he is finished—”
    “Now!” Rockford commanded. “I have been