The Love Affair of an English Lord Read Online Free Page B

murderer.
    She had cried in bed for two full days after the funeral, privately mourning her rude but attractive rescuer for reasons she could not explain. Her older brothers—Grayson, Heath, and Drake—had made a brief journey to pay their respects. No one appeared to have any idea who had killed Stratfield. His uncle Edgar had rushed all the way from Wales to investigate and handle practical matters.
    But the parson had let it slip that Stratfield might have done a little spying during his war days; an old enemy could have resurfaced to murder him. And then his alleged attraction to a few married women had not exactly won him friends. He was a man who had lived as he pleased and apparently lived to please no one but himself. Little wonder he was not widely mourned.
    He was dead, and Chloe had no choice but to forget him. She would not have been wise to encourage his attention anyway. He was a man who had lived on the darker side of life. For all she knew, he had done something to merit death. For all she knew, he would have been her downfall. And yet, for many reasons, she hoped his killer would be caught.
    Pamela’s high-pitched voice drew her back to the less interesting present. “He came here right after you left,” she whispered as they entered Chloe’s bedchamber.
    â€œWho came here?” Chloe asked blankly, resenting the return to reality.
    â€œYour brother, of course.”
    For a few irrational seconds Chloe had thought that Pamela meant the Stratfield Ghost. As matters stood, however, she did not have the luxury of worrying about the dead. It was the living who were tormenting her. Specifically, the living in the form of her brother Devon, who had become a wanted outlaw as the result of a prank he’d played last month.
    On the way home from a gaming hall in Chelsea, Devon and two of his cocksure friends had held up a carriage that they believed was transporting a young courtesan who had been encouraging their attentions as well as denuding their pockets all evening.
    The carriage, however, had belonged to an elderly banker. Shots had been fired, a footman wounded, and Devon had gone into hiding while his brother the marquess pulled strings to smooth down the mess his reckless sibling had made.
    Chloe unbuttoned her blue muslin gown and sank down onto the bed with an involuntary shiver, staring at one of the bulging leather trunks that had arrived during the day. The other had been dragged into the dressing closet for lack of space. Her sister Emma had sent a costume to cover every occasion, not guessing how empty Chloe’s social life had become.
    â€œI suppose Devon wanted more money,” she said, staring around the room. Was it her imagination, all the talk of ghosts, that made her feel edgy and alert? Or was she worried because it seemed that her family was on the verge of falling apart? Except for Grayson, happily married to his clever wife, Jane, all her Boscastle siblings appeared to be unsettled. Perhaps she should concentrate on her newfound admirer Lord St. John. He had the most gorgeous brown eyes and teasing grin, even if he had seemed a trifle shallow. Why could she not be satisfied with a young man like him?
    â€œYour brother came in through the window again when I was sorting out your clothes,” Pamela said in an undertone. “The handsome devil has absolutely no sense of propriety, Chloe.”
    â€œPropriety?” Chloe gasped, one hand lifting to her mouth. “I absolutely forgot about the chemise Devon left in the window!”
    Pamela looked puzzled. “What chemise? I did not notice Devon with a chemise.”
    â€œThe one that I saw from the carriage. I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I suppose my brother thinks he’s very funny,” she said crossly. “Remind me to remove it before I go to bed. I shall have to push this trunk into the closet anyway.”
    â€œAren’t you even going to look through it?”