Taming the Barbarian Read Online Free Page B

had come quickly upon the startling news of his untimely death.
    But she had been unable to bear making the news of their financial failure public. Thus she had emptied every room in Briarburn, the only property she’d been able to retain, and quietly sold the goods overseas. Except for the parlor. Into that one chamber, she had poured every bit of remaining treasure. It was, after all, the place where she most often entertained guests— friends and business acquaintances alike. And she was not foolish enough to allow others to glimpse too much truth. No matter how much she trusted them.
    Stanford was watching her with the slightest scowl marring his elegant brow. She caught his gaze, and he sighed. “You know I loved him as a brother,” he said “But he was not perfect.”
    Memories knocked at her consciousness, but she honed them carefully. Thomas had been exceedingly handsome, she remembered. Everyone had said so. “But I fear he was as close as I am likely to get,” she said.
    Stanford’s scowl deepened.
    She squeezed his hand and gave him a tremulous smile. “Seven years is not so long a time. Is it? Say, shorter than the… equinox.”
    He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head and gazed past her shoulder with disapproving solemnity. “I’m quite certain you’re using the term entirely incorrectly.”
    She laughed, and he returned her smile.
    “I simply want you to be happy, Fleurette. Nothing more.”
    “I know you do, Stanford. And I am. Truly.”
    “But for a woman such as yourself to live alone… It seems…” He shook his head, at a loss for words.
    “I enjoy being alone. And when I do not, I seek the company of friends.”
    “Your business endeavors… they are a strain on you. Why must you—”
    “If not for Eddings Carriages, whatever would I do with my time?” she asked, interrupting smoothly. “There are only so many items one can embroider. Without my business holdings, I would have embellished everything I own by this time.”
    “Honestly,” he said, watching her with wry interest, “have you ever embroidered a single article in the entirety of your life?”
    She blinked, all innocence. “Of course I have.”
    “When?”
    “Back when I was seven I—”
    “Oh for heaven’s sake!”
    “Back when I was seven,” she began again, patiently stifling a laugh. “I embroidered a shawl for my mother. Gave it to her for her thirty-second birthday.” She made an expression as if she were thinking back. Her parents had been the center of her universe, always happy, always kind, and deeply, madly in love. She had somehow assumed she would be the same. “It was hideous. I use it as a rag in the stables. The horses hardly ever complain.”
    “You’re looking at this with entirely too much levity.”
    She watched him for a moment, feeling a sweep of fondness. “But that is how I prefer to look at things, Stanford. Better with levity than with fatalistic woe. Don’t you agree?”
    He sighed. “I worry.”
    “Well, you needn’t. All is well. I’m healthy. I’m happy…”
    “Are you?” He searched her face.
    She drew forth a careful smile. And it was not so very hard. “You are most dear to care.”
    “I’m your only kin, and that by marriage. I have to worry for all those who’ve prematurely abandoned their posts.”
    “And you do it well,” she said, and noticed, from the corner of her eye, that Lord Lampor was making his way through the crowd toward them. “Oh. Damn. Stanford, dance me toward the door.”
    He did so without inquiry, and, once hidden from the looming lord’s view, she eased to a halt.
    “Is something amiss?” he asked, and glanced surreptitiously about.
    “No. I just…” She shook her head. “I’ve heard Lampor is on the prowl for a new wife.”
    Stanford glanced through the crowd but seemed to see nothing alarming. “Lord Lampor would not be a hideous choice. He’s got a lovely home near Hyde Park and—”
    “I have a lovely home