Master of Sin Read Online Free Page A

going to America and rubbing elbows with wild Indians. Instead he was perched on top of a windy ridge, trapped with a sick child, two unintelligible servants, and a wicked little shrew.
    Now that there was a substantial fire in the kitchen, the shrew had removed a few layers of her makeshift covering to reveal a scrawny little body worthy of a twelve-year-old boy. Her dress—brown of course—was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen on a woman. He thought the only thing worse would be to remove it and catch sight of what little there was underneath.
    And Edward Christie had met her. Approved of her. Damn the man to hell. He didn’t deserve Caroline or all the comforts of life.
    There was a tap at the door. Mrs. MacLean poked her head in. Now what . Andrew lifted his good hand. “Come.”
    The woman didn’t bother to speak but dropped a tray gently on the bare surface of the desk. She was a mind reader. Or a witch. There on the toleware sat a tumbler of whiskey and a thick ham sandwich. Andrew smiled and swore he still had some of his own magic judging from the blush on the woman’s cheeks.
    â€œThank you, Mrs. MacLaren. You are a godsend in this godforsaken place. If you weren’t already married to your good husband, I’d take you to bed and show you heaven, fuck you sideways and upside down. Lick a path from your toes to your iron-gray head. If I have a bed. I suppose I’ll look after lunch. But we wouldn’t really need a bed, you know.”
    He heard the snort from the hallway. Bloody hell . Miss Peartree walked in holding his son, now swaddled in a nappy. In the washing of him, she’d lost some of her own grime, though her hair still looked as if Mrs. MacLaren had taken a fork to it.
    â€œI hope when Marc is fluent in English, you will refrain from such disgusting vocabulary,” she said primly.
    Andrew felt his face darken. It had been very bad of him, he knew. He didn’t need this little gremlin to tell him so. “You’re one to talk. I’ve never heard so many bloody bloodies in my life.”
    She had the grace to color. Apparently he had put her in her place and she was done with her lecture. For now. He had a feeling she’d find something else to upbraid him about, and soon. “Marc has swallowed every drop of broth and had a coddled egg besides. I won’t let that woman give him milk yet, though. Goat’s milk, if you please.” She shuddered. “Here. Feel his forehead.” She offered his son to him, but Marc shied away, clinging to Miss Peartree’s bony shoulder. She murmured to him in soothing Italian, but his face remained buried in her nonexistent bosom. “He doesn’t seem to like you very much. Why is that?”
    Andrew took a long pull of the whiskey. He would have to get much more before night fell, although it really was as dark as sin outside already. “He does not know me well. My late wife and I were separated for most of our marriage.”
    Andrew was fairly sure she whispered “smart woman” into his son’s shorn curls.
    â€œWhat a pity. He asks for her, you know.”
    Andrew did. He’d lain awake all through Europe hearing his son cry for Giulietta. “He’ll get over it. He must.”
    â€œHow heartless you are! He’s just a baby.” She kissed the top of his head and Marc snuggled deeper. “How did your wife die?”
    â€œAn accident. Really, Miss Peartree, this is too personal and painful to talk about. You are overstepping your bounds.”
    Her eyes widened at the rebuke. Her lashes were very long, reaching nearly to her straight brown brows. “I’m sorry. I thought knowing might help me with your son.”
    â€œYou won’t be here long enough.” Andrew bit into the sandwich and chewed noisily, hoping to repel her right out of the room.
    â€œOh, not that nonsense again. Surely you must know all these changes have been very