The Heiress of Linn Hagh Read Online Free Page A

behind those beautiful violet-black eyes.
    Despite her evasiveness, Lavender could tell from her frayed cloak, faded silk gown and elegant manner that she was probably another impoverished Spanish aristocrat who had fled her country after Napoleon’s brutal invasion. Although her charming, deep voice was heavily accented, she spoke English well and clearly understood several of the idioms used by the other passengers. This indicated that she had been in England some time. The only question that remained unanswered in his mind was the whereabouts of her husband. Here, or back in Spain?
    He would not normally have cared, but an interesting magnetism had sprung up between them. Whenever he helped her down from the coach, her dark eyes smiled and her neck flushed slightly. She paused in her speech when their hands touched, as if savouring the strong grasp of a man. Last night at dinner, she had sought out his opinion on several occasions and had been noticeably less haughty with him than anyone else. Idly, he wondered how long it had been since the señora had lain with her man.
    Her sensuous mouth dropped open slightly, revealing a glimpse of her moist pink tongue. Her bosom began to rise and fall in the gentle rhythm of sleep. He leant back against the cushions of the coach, half-closed his own eyes and allowed himself a few pleasurable thoughts about what he would do to Magdalena Morales if he ever had her naked in his bed.
    He had nearly dozed off when the man from Newark reached out and gently eased the reticule from between the señora’s limp, gloved hands. Slowly and carefully, his expert fingers began to feel the shape of the coins in her bag before replacing it onto her lap. His actions took only a few seconds, but it was enough to tell Lavender exactly who and what he was; the man’s greed had given him away.
    Lavender forced himself to remain rigid and still in his corner of the coach. He continued to watch the man through half-veiled eyes and tried to slow his own quickening breath. He scanned the contours of the man’s shabby greatcoat, looking for the outline of a pistol. There was an ominous bulge by his right hip. It all made sense now: the uneasy fidgeting, the constant checking of the time. Lavender’s brain raced. He desperately tried to remember if there was any place between here and Barnby Moor that was more heavily wooded, more secluded and more notorious for highway robbery than any others. He realised grimly that there were several.
    The coach hit a rut and lurched violently. All the passengers jerked awake, groaned or sighed. The señora cursed quietly in Spanish.
    Constable Woods woke up, startled and blinking. When Mr Finch engaged the Newark man in conversation, Lavender leant over and indicated to Woods that he wanted a private word with him. Beneath the murmurings of the other passengers, the rumble of the wheels and the persistent beating of the rain on the roof, he managed to discreetly whisper into Woods’ ear.
    ‘There’s a toby man on board—him on your left.’
    Woods’ sleep-rimmed eyes blinked and stared back at him in confusion. A second later, his eyes glimmered with understanding, and he sank back into his seat and nodded.
    Lavender rose to his feet, braced himself against the rolling vehicle and banged loudly on the wood panelling above Woods’ head that separated the passengers from the driver. The other occupants of the coach glanced up in alarm.
    ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he announced loudly as he sat down again. ‘When Mr Woods and I introduced ourselves yesterday, we omitted to mention the fact that we’re officers with the Bow Street Magistrates Court. I’m Detective Stephen Lavender, and this is Constable Edward Woods.’
    ‘Good gracious!’ Mr Finch gasped. His elderly wife leant forward for a better look. Even with the dim and flickering light from the carriage’s oil lamps, Lavender saw the man from Newark turn pale. His right hand began to slide