My Fallen Angel Read Online Free Page B

him back to the present. Was it his imagination or did that hand linger? He opened his eyes, then wished he hadn’t. She was close, too close.
    “Oh, thank God. I thought you dead,” she murmured.
    God should be so kind.“How long?” he mumbled, throat dry. After the sunlike brightness of Arlan’s room, the candle she’d lit seemed as dim as moonlight in comparison.
    “Only seconds,” she answered, “but we must leave. When your head hit the floor, you sounded like Goliath falling to the ground.”
    He nodded, then sat up.
    “Garrick,” she said softly.“You’re not angry with me, are you?”
    “No,” he snapped, pushing himself to his feet, fed up with the whole situation: Arlan, Lucy, the bloody mess this day had turned out to be.
    She stood up alongside of him, then tugged at his arm. Reluctantly, he turned to face her.
    “I’m so sorry for pushing you away,” she said hesitantly.“What you did just startled me so. Not even dear Harry has done that.”
    Dear Harry? Who the hell was dear Harry? Never mind, he didn’t want to know.
    He shook his head, furious with himself for losing control in the arms of an innocent—an incredibly responsive innocent, but still an innocent.
    “And I suppose I should warn you that I’m not the world’s most graceful person,” she went on to say as he stood.“Things just seem to happen around me. I mean, I didn’t
plan
for that branch to break earlier, but it did.” She sighed.“My aunt says I’m as clumsy as a pig on ice. And dear Harry refuses to dance with me—”
    “Miss Hartford,” Garrick interrupted.“I assure you I will never touch you again.”
    He wouldn’t
? Lucy thought. Whyever not? But then she realized she shouldn’t
want
him to touch her. Sheshould want dear Harry—a man who was expected to propose to her—to touch her. She should be outraged, horrified, disgusted by Mr. Wolf’s behavior. She should be stricken with maidenly affront. At the very least she should slap his face.
    Instead she felt a brazen need to make him want to touch her again. She peeked up at him.
    He glared.
    Her heart sank. Just sank to the bottom or her dirt-stained heels. He didn’t like her. That much was clear. A lump the size of Sir Wilmont’s garden grew in her throat. She tried to swallow, nearly choked, then looked away. Heaven knows she should be used to such reactions from men.
    Heaven knows she wasn’t.
    Turning, she blindly reached for the door, wanting only to escape. It was hard to say who was more surprised when she opened the door and came face-to-face with two servants—her or the servants. One man’s mouth gaped open. His face filled with horror, the dim light of the lantern he held turning his features into a ghoulish mask. He crossed himself.
    Unfortunately, the other servant wasn’t so timid.“Thief!” he screamed, pointing at her.
    “Well!” Lucy huffed, sniffing back her tears.“I never. Thief indeed. Why, I’ll have you know—”
    Whatever else she’d been about to say was unceremoniously cut off when Garrick jerked her back and slammed the door in the footmen’s faces.
    “Stop!” came a muffled voice from the other side of the door.
    Garrick shoved the lock in place, then pulled her toward the adjoining sitting room. He tried the window, but it was closed now. She watched as he struggled with the latch for a moment, then gave up and tugged her toward the door.
    They burst into the same hallway as their pursuers, and a cold gust of air blew out Lucy’s candle. She dropped it to the floor, then glanced over her shoulder and saw that the two servants had spotted them.
    “Stop, thief,” one of them yelled, charging in their direction.
    She faced forward again only to crash into Garrick’s back a moment later. He almost tumbled down the dark chasm before them. A stairwell.
    He hesitated a moment, then plunged down the steps; Lucy followed closely behind. They made it down with nary a misstep, only to meet up with another