The Wild Child Read Online Free

her. The harsh light cruelly revealed her ravaged face and the white streaks in her black hair, yet her smile held all the world’s sweetness. “Milord. It is good to see you,” she said in her seductively accented voice.
    He kissed her forehead, then sat in the chair by the sofa and took her hand. It felt unbearably fragile, scarcely more than skin and bones. “I’ve a surprise for you, Constancia. I’ve hired a fast private yacht. On Monday, we will sail for Spain on the tide. You’ll stay in the captain’s own cabin.”
    She gasped. “How is this possible? You have so many responsibilities. The trip to Shropshire that cannot be delayed…”
    “That will be taken care of by my brother.”
    “Your brother?” Her eyes rounded. “I did not know you had a brother.”
    For years Kyle had deliberately refrained from mentioning his brother, but that was no longer possible.
    “Dominic. My twin.”
    “Un hermano gemelo? A twin brother?” she repeated, amazed and intrigued, as people too often were by twins. “Does he look like you?”
    “We were considered identical.”
    She laughed a little. “Two such handsome men! The mind cannot grasp it.”
    Perhaps that was why he had never mentioned Dominic, his easy-tempered twin, the one who was well liked, especially by women. “Only our faces are alike. In other ways, we are very dissimilar.”
    Her levity faded, and she gazed at him with the dark eyes that could see right into his soul. “You have told me of your father, your small sister, your mother of blessed memory, but never of your twin. Why not?”
    “He’s not part of my life. We never see each other.” Discomfited by her unswerving gaze, he added,
    “Dominic was always rebellious. Irresponsible.”
    “And yet now, he helps you.”
    “I’m making it worth his while,” Kyle said dryly.
    She caught her breath. “Is he pretending to be you? Surely not, querido!”
    He swore to himself. He hadn’t meant her to know this much, but it was hard to keep anything from her quick, intuitive mind. Not wanting to discuss his brother any more, he said, “I’ll tell Teresa to start packing your things. There isn’t much time.”
    She closed her eyes for a moment, a shadow of pain crossing her face. “No,” she whispered. “Hardly any time left at all.”
    It wasn’t easy to keep his voice steady. “Time enough to take you home, as I promised I would.”
    “Yes, but I did not think you were serious. For a young lord to lower himself to escorting his old mistress… unthinkable!” With her free hand, she wiped away tears. “Diablo! I cry too easily now. How can I take so much from you, mi corazon, my heart?”
    She had never understood how much he owed her. Constancia de las Torres had been only a girl when she was driven from her home by war, and ravished into the bargain. She had survived in the only way open to a lovely young woman who was destitute and alone. Later, during the Peninsular War, she had accompanied a British officer back to England as his mistress. When the affair ended, she’d become a London courtesan, known publicly as La Paloma. The dove.
    She’d been more than twice Kyle’s age when he went to her as an eighteen-year-old virgin. He was captivated the first time he saw her in a box at the opera, and not only because of her dark, exotic beauty. Demanding an introduction from a mutual friend, he’d immediately invited her to join him for a late supper after the performance.
    Though he tried to act worldly, he couldn’t have fooled her for a minute. But Constancia had kept any amusement to herself, welcoming him into her arms with a generosity that made him feel like a man among men.
    Even that first time, he’d known that what he had discovered with La Paloma went far beyond the intoxicating pleasures of passion. In a profession that turned most women hard and cold, she had a rare and precious warmth. With her he found peace, and a filling of the emptiness that had been part of