Starlight & Promises Read Online Free Page A

appreciation? No. You belittle my attempts—”
    “Stow it!” Christian stalked to the wastebasket. He plucked out the delicate vellum stationery and held it up. “
This
, Garrett.
This
is the problem. I pay you well to keep crackpots”—he smoothed out the letter and reexamined the signature—”like Lady Samantha Eugenia Colchester off my back. Especially women crackpots, and
most particularly
, women crackpots of the British aristocracy.”
    Garrett looked up from the appointment book he pretended to inspect. “You know, someday you will have to come to terms with this unreasonable loathing for aristocratic ladies. Not all of them are she-wolves in ewe’s clothing. Some are quite nice. What happened to you happened long ago. The time has come for you to let it go.”
    Something broke inside Christian, and he fought to take a breath. “I have no earthly desire to discuss my past with you or anyone else,” he said, his words blasting Garrett.
    Garrett lowered his gaze, staring down at the desk. Hurt suffused his face. “I only thought I could help.”
    Christian regretted taking his anger out on Garrett. But, damn it, he didn’t want to think about the past, much less banter about it with Garrett. “I need no help,” he said gruffly. “Particularly the help of some young pup.”
    An affronted expression still plastered to his face, Garrett looked up. “As to the letter, I was mistaken in thinking I tossed it into the rubbish. Somehow it became mixed in amongst the bills, and you are quite aware of our financial situation and how monstrous that pile has become.”
    “What?” Christian said, preferring not to dwell on his finances. “Been too busy bedding the entire local female population that you can’t find a few minutes to carry out your duties with a bit of diligence?”
    Garrett’s face crumpled. “A low blow, Chris.”
    “Obviously not low enough, if what I hear is true.” Christian shook his head. “Sometimes I rue the day I plucked your disreputable, criminal carcass off that dock in San Francisco. I should have left you with the rest of the wharf rats.”
    “What if she’s not a crackpot?” Garrett asked quietly, shifting the subject back to the point.
    Christian made his way to the hearth and poured a whiskey from a cut-crystal decanter sitting on the mantel. He turned back around. “Not a crackpot? You mean what if her uncle really
found
a Smilodon?”
    Garrett nodded.
    One side of Christian’s mouth edged up. “You know damn well the Smilodon has been extinct for ten thousand years.” With a jerk of his hand, he downed the whiskey. “Even if it wasn’t, you wouldn’t find one in the South Seas. Impossible. Smilodon never existed in Oceania.” He dropped the letter on the floor and fell silent for a moment.
Suppose Garrett is right?
His hand cupped his chin, lashes lowering to half-mast, and racked his brain for possibilities. His chest tightened, and his heart picked up its pace. Striding over to the bookcases, he yanked out several volumes, rifling through the pages.
    “Inspiration strike?” Garrett ventured.
    Christian raised a hand, throwing Garrett a quelling look over his shoulder.
    Garrett clamped his lips together.
    Christian stopped flipping pages, his gaze skimming a passage. “It could be a
mesonychid,”
he mumbled. “No. Impossible.” He slammed the book closed and shoved it back onto the shelf.
    Garrett retrieved the letter from the floor, holding it to his nose and sniffing. “But, Chris,” he moaned, “she wears a most intriguing scent.”
    Christian snorted a laugh. “Sometimes I forget how devious you are. Your mind permanently resides between some wench’s thighs.” He returned to the mantel, reached for the decanter, and downed another slug of whiskey, this time straight from the bottle. “Okay,” he said with a sigh. “Give her an appointment. I’ll relent this once and let you check out her assets while I listen to her crackpot claim.”
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