Cheryl Holt Read Online Free

like a sack of rubbish!”
    “Take him out, Mr. Hughes.”
    “I won’t!”
    Charles occupied a strange position in their household. Though he was technically a Bristol employee, he answered to no one but Stephen, and he couldn’t be ordered about. A man of lofty morals and principles, he’d quit before he’dobey a command that went against his better judgment.
    She glared at the footmen, who didn’t dare defy her. “Carry him out, gentlemen.”
    Near to a mutiny, they bristled, but ultimately, the driver stepped forward to comply with her edict, as Charles shoved him away.
    “I’ll do it,” he bit out, and he reached in and gripped Stephen around the shoulders. With only the one hand, he was awkward, and the other men vaulted forward to lend their support.
    They hauled him up the walk and laid him down, and he didn’t flinch or make any motion to indicate that he noticed what they’d done. He slumbered in serene indifference.
    The men came toward her, and Charles muttered under his breath, “Crazy shrew.”
    “Did you say something, Charles?”
    She stared him down, evincing an arrogance and rage she never showed to others. He met her look but prudently held his tongue.
    In the current heat of the moment, it wouldn’t do for either of them to spew remarks they might later regret.
    Charles lifted her into the coach, and the others readied for departure. None too soon, they were away. The horses were maneuvered around, and as they were about to exit the yard, Mrs. Smythe ran out the door, screaming and running after the carriage as though she might catch it and yank it to a halt.
    “No, you don’t!” she wailed. “No, you bloody don’t! You can’t do this to me!”
    Eleanor leaned out the window. “I’ll return in a month, to learn how he’s doing. Write to me at Bristol if you need anything.”
    Clasping her reticule, she retrieved the envelope of money she’d brought. She flung it out, and it landed in thedirt at Mrs. Smythe’s feet. Her expression of wrath and scorn was wrenching, and Eleanor couldn’t abide her disdain, so she settled inside and shut her eyes.
    This is for the best,
she persuaded herself.
It is!
    She offered up a prayer. For Stephen. But for Mrs. Smythe, too.

 2 
    Stephen awakened in a dark room, unsure of where he was or how he’d come to be there. The only fact he knew with any certainty was that he wasn’t in his suite at Bristol Manor. He’d spent the preceding few months in hiding, demanding a privacy that wasn’t afforded, and battling the incompetent fiends his father hired in the guise of medical practitioners.
    In a prior period of his life, he might have been startled by the strange surroundings, might have leapt to his feet, ready to fight or flee. Now, he was simply muddled, his head throbbing, his bones aching, his fatigue grave.
    He took stock of his environs. The bed upon which he reclined was comfortable, the mattress soft and cushy. The quilt smelled clean, a sheer contrast to the fleshly odors emanating from his person.
    His vision adjusted, and he could see a rocking chair, framed pictures on a white wall, a vase of flowers on a dresser. The furnishings were modest, the decor plain, yet it was cozy, welcoming.
    Turning onto his side, he peered out the opened window, and an invigorating evening breeze blew over him. In thedistance, thunder rumbled with the approach of a summer storm.
    The moon was up, the golden orb shining down on a quiet, manicured yard, the rolling hills beyond. Off to the left, he could detect a barn and cottage. To the right, the lawn sloped, a stone walk winding to a stretch of hedges and large shade trees. He could hear water gurgling, as though there was a stream nearby.
    Had he been here before? Or had it been a dream?
    Motion caught his attention, and he narrowed his focus, gazing through the shadows. At the end of the pathway, there was a break in the shrubbery, and he could observe a woman rising to her knees, then her