The Bride Price Read Online Free Page B

Sarah’s glib announcement of the earl’s new mistress. “I can have you over for tea, and you can ask during the visit.”
    “Excellent.”
    She kept up a steady chatter designed to keep Sarah laughing, all the while plotting which part of the competition she planned to destroy first.

Chapter 3
    Dear Reader, shadowy appeals from every corner are turning into intriguing tidbits. Our sources tell us that many of society’s sons—the favorite and the notorious—are set to compete in a tournament. Among them are Marcus Sloane, the natural son of the Marquess of Sloanestone, and Sebastien Deville, the natural son of the Duke of Grandien. As you are undoubtedly aware from the social on-dits, Deville is best known for his unpredictability and his exploits with the women in Town…
    C aroline tiredly dropped her papers onto a curved stone bench in the front garden of the vacant, but charming, Roseford Grange. She’d completed a pencil sketch of the grounds and now needed to illustrate the house proper on the page.
    The words of the earl and Sarah’s new chaperone played through her mind. She had exhausted most of her ire during the carriage ride, but the product remained.
    Lady Sarah’s marriage to the tournament winnerwill be the event of the season. Married to the new viscount. A man demonstrating strength in all areas and supported by the most powerful men in England. Think of your father’s pride , Lady Sarah!
    With great difficulty Caroline had restrained herself from giving Lady Tevon a box on the ears for dangling the earl’s regard before Sarah like a carrot on a stick. Repeated over and over, the effect had been brutal.
    “Your father wants to see you married well. His affection for you would be untold. The sheer amount of pride he would have in you—unfathomable.” Caroline mimicked the speech, the authoritarian power that Lady Tevon dripped with every new word. Her anger with the earl grew ever larger.
    She gave a vicious little tug of her black chalk over the paper. Undoubtedly the winner of this redoubtable tournament would make a powerful match—Lady Tevon was correct.
    That didn’t mean that the contestants themselves would be wonderful. Men in power, or seeking it, rarely were. And several of the men were widely known as out-and-out rakes. Men who seduced women into believing they were special. Men who moved on as soon as the next beautiful or powerful thing crossed their paths. Men like—
    She scratched out another line along with the thought, making sure the placement of the line was perfect, with no excess marks or flavor.
    She critically examined the Grange, focusing on her task instead of memories best left forgotten. The main house was a lovely structure with brown peaks and sloping roofs. Large windowsand thoughtful architecture. Warm and inviting, yet wild and free. Long-stemmed flowers and curling ivy twined around it, encompassing it in long green arms and colorful fingers.
    If she were an artist, it would be a heavenly sight to paint. A sight in and of itself that would perhaps encourage one to become an artist. This was the type of home in which she’d like to see Sarah reside. She had always thought her friend more at ease in her own wild cottage garden than in the confines of the strict manor with its rigid layout and oppressive stones.
    The last thing Sarah needed was a domineering or roguish man to inhabit it with her.
    “You are trespassing on private property,” a deep, smooth voice stated. “If you would kindly be on your way.”
    She whipped around to see a well-dressed, very handsome man leaning casually against a garden pillar no more than five paces away. But for the look in his eyes, a jaded prince.
    The hum of a befuddled cricket echoed her feelings. “Trespassing?” she asked, unnerved by his presence.
    He cocked a brow. “The act of walking onto property that is forbidden to you.”
    “No, I mean, I believe you are mistaken, sir. I’m not trespassing—”
    “Oh?