His Sinful Secret Read Online Free Page A

chestnut hair, and vivid hazel eyes. Their aristocratic features had the familial Hepburn handsomeness stamped on them, but right there all similarity ended. Harry and his younger brother weren’t at all alike.
    She wasn’t an expert on the subject of men, but she had a feeling Michael Hepburn was . . . complicated . “I do miss Harry. He was always laughing.”
    Malcolm might be a little inebriated and it was very late—or early, depending on how one looked at the time—but he still caught the bleak inflection in her voice. “Life changes sometimes, Jule, and we can’t do anything about it. Maybe this was really meant to be, you and the new marquess. Harry was a bit too tame for you, I always thought. Michael Hepburn isn’t tame at all, I’d guess. It is a little difficult to tell what he’s thinking.”
    She guessed the same thing, if the compelling, cool assessment of his gaze was any indication.
    Another nervous shiver touched her.

Chapter Two
    “T his should have been stitched together.”Fitzhugh tossed aside the crusty bandage and sent him a level glare of disapproval. “I say you should damn the questions and summon a physician to look at it, sir. It’s a right nasty one.”
    Michael returned the look with a small smile, though the injury was sore as hell and the removal of the wrapping had caused a light sweat to sheen his skin. “I am uninterested in having a physician perhaps reveal to someone he treated the Marquess of Longhaven for a knife wound. I’ve been hurt worse and you’ve seen to it. Stop fussing and just get on with it.”
    The older man shook his head but obeyed, cleaning the wound and placing clean linen on it before wrapping strips of cloth to keep the pad in place. Stocky, weathered, and trustworthy, he played valet with as much efficiency as he’d performed his duties when they served together under Wellington’s command. A few moments later Michael eased into his shirt and surveyed his appearance in the mirror. Clean-shaven and dressed, he looked perfectly normal, except maybe for the faint shadows under his eyes. He hadn’t slept well, partly due to the wound itself, and partly due to its cause.
    Two murder attempts, a volatile matter to handle for his superiors, and now a problematic wedding night.
    No wonder he hadn’t managed more than a half doze for a few hours.
    His former sergeant had an uncanny ability to read his mind. “What are you going to tell her, if I might ask, my lord?” The form of address still came awkwardly. Fitzhugh was used to calling him Colonel and frequently lapsed out of sheer habit.
    “I’m not sure.” He finished tying his cravat and turned around. “I thought of saying I fell from my horse, but I fear even to an inexperienced eye, it looks like what it is—a knife wound. Eventually the bandage will come off and the scar would prove me a liar. Not an auspicious way to start a marriage.”
    There was small, inelegant snort. “The lovely young lady had better get used to half-truths, with the business you dabble your toes in.”
    He ignored the comment. “I have to come up with something else.”
    Fitzhugh picked up his discarded robe and bustled off to the dressing room to hang it up. It was a warm morning and brilliant sunshine lit the bedroom with golden light. Michael hadn’t taken Harry’s suite of rooms—it felt like the worst kind of betrayal to take anything more that once belonged to his brother. He’d already inherited his title, his fortune, and his fiancée, so moving into his apartments was out of the question. The furnishings in his suite were a bit austere, the same as before he’d left for Spain. Plain dark blue hangings on the carved bed, a simple cream rug on the polished floor, matching curtains at the long windows. He’d been twenty-one when he’d boarded the ship to sail away to war, and decorating was hardly a top priority in his life at that time. It still wasn’t. Maybe Julianne would care to redo their portion