Firelight Read Online Free

their town-kept mistresses. A place where a young, unescorted woman might go, pretend to shop for jewels far past her means so that she might flirt with the young clerk she had her eye on.
    It was the role she played. Letting him see her walk by his window once a week. Making eye contact before turning away with a blush. And then working up her courage to finally enter. She dipped her head and blushed.
    “You are too kind, sir,” she murmured.
    He fairly glowed with pleasure, and her heart ached. Too good a boy to ruin. For he would be ruined when his master found out what he had let happen here. But she could not return empty-handed. It had been too long. On the inside she screamed. This is my life, and I hate it. I hate it . She returned his smile.
    The shop bell trilled, and the young man started as if caught with his hand in the biscuit bin. Two plump matrons entered, giving him a curt nod. Like Miranda’s, their gowns were slightly out of date and well-mended, but unlike with Miranda, the clerk took notice and did not jump to assist them.
    Miranda trailed a gloved finger down her neck.
    “W-would you like to try one of them on?” he asked.
    She licked her lower lip, a tiny flicker of pink tongue that kept him riveted. “I don’t think I should.” It took no effort to make her lips tremble. In truth, she felt like crying.
    “Merciful heavens!”
    The matron’s exclamation made them both turn. The older woman pressed her hand upon her ample chest and grabbed hold of her companion.
    “Oh, Jane, look who it is!”
    Her friend paled and made an attempt to support her friend. “Who, Margaret?”
    “The Dread Lord Archer! His coach is coming up the street!”
    “No!”
    Both women craned their wrinkled necks to peek between the gold lettering upon the shop window. Miranda stopped short of rolling her eyes. What a pair, these two . Her fingers tensed to take her prize but she held firm. Slowly. Slowly . Marks always felt it if one rushed. It was instinctive.
    “I’ve seen him,” hissed Margaret. “Late one night on the way home from the theater. He walked along Piccadilly as if he had every right to do so. I swear I nearly swooned from fright!”
    “You poor dear. What has the world come to when men such as he are permitted to roam the streets?”
    Miranda had never heard such censorious drivel.
    “My dear, he is aristocracy,” said Margaret, “and as rich as Croesus. Who would dare question him? I heard he has sent at least four men to hospital for simply looking at him in the wrong light.”
    The conveyance came flush with the shop window. Miranda caught a glimpse of the black top hat and cloak of a coachman, a black coach with a white shield upon its door.
    “Heavens, he looked at me…” Jane shuddered, and with a moan, her eyes rolled up in her head.
    “Jane!” Her friend tried to grab her as the woman began to topple.
    “Here! Here!” The clerk jumped up, running to catch the hare-brained woman.
    There was something to say for flighty females. Miranda acted, slipping the necklace into her skirt pocket as she rushed to aid, accidentally brushing several necklaces off the counter in her haste. “Oh my,” she exclaimed, frantically trying to gather the jewels and succeeding in making a muck of it. Ropes of gold and gems fell to the floor, a hopeless muddle.
    The clerk wavered between assisting her and struggling to help the matron on the floor. Perfect .
    “What a mess I have made!” Miranda pressed a shaking hand to her brow. “I am sorry. And you have your hands full!”
    She reached the door, her heart pounding. It pounded every time. Every time.
    “Wait, Miss!” The clerk buckled, his hand outstretched as if he would pull her back.
    Hand twitching on the doorknob, she shot the clerk a regretful smile. “Good-bye. I am sorry.”
    His words were drowned out by the bell.
    Outside, the coach in question was gone, swallowed up by street traffic and drifting fog. Only now did the gaping