This Perfect Kiss Read Online Free Page B

the ragamuffin girl he’d briefly known, who’d rescued birds and kittens and rabbits and anything else that had needed saving. Of a time when tenderness had not been such a rare commodity in his life.
    Aye, he remembered Christel Douglas well enough. He had looked upon similar features for eight years of his life.
    Turning away, he reached for a tin pannikin in the bookcase and filled it from a flask before raking her slender figure with a glance. “As I remember, you seem to lack a knack for proper attire and introductions. Why am I not surprised to see you dressed like a stable hand?”
    â€œA woman traveling alone has many reasons not to trust a man,” she said without looking up.
    His eyes slid from her floppy hat to the tips of her mud-caked boots. “I hate to be the one to inform you, but no one would mistake you for a man even if you do smell like a side of smoked bacon.” He held out the pannikin.
    She snatched the cup and drank, then coughed delicately into her sleeve, causing him some amusement as she attempted not to choke on the fiery drink. “Rest assured, my lord, ” she rasped, “with your dislike of pork and my distrust of powerful men we should all get along famously.”
    With this blustery declaration, she lifted her watery gaze and the light fell full on her face beneath her hat’s brim. Something inside him cracked. No longer holding his anger close to his chest, he wondered what fool notion had brought her across a hostile ocean a world away from her own. “What are you doing here, Christel?”
    â€œI was on my way to Glasgow. Two weeks ago a storm diverted the ship from Boston to Lisbon for repairs. What was not confiscated from me in Spain was stolen yesterday when I arrived in London. It was only by chance that I learned you were here and that this was your ship.”
    â€œLet me rephrase. What are you doing on this side of the Atlantic ?”
    She cautiously set down the tin cup. “I . . . I received a letter in Williamsburg six months ago.” While she spoke, she struggled to pull a crumpled, water-stained letter from beneath her shirt. “ ’Twas written by Saundra. She asked me to return to Scotland to be a governess for Anna.”
    â€œA governess ?” His gaze hesitating on the tattered gloves covering her fingers, he took the letter from her hand and brought it nearer to the window for light. “Saundra has been dead almost two years.”
    â€œDo you think I do not know that? But that is Saundra’s handwriting. It bears your wax seal. It came from Blackthorn Castle.”
    In the uneasy silence that followed, he flipped over the letter and studied the wax seal. He shoved his hand into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew the missive he had received last evening from his solicitor concerning the onset of his grandmother’s illness. The signet wax seal matched the ring on his finger, down to the laurel leaves that framed the crossed swords. This ring had not left his finger in years. He had another that he kept locked in a desk in his library. Only Saundra and his grandmother had ever had access to the ring kept at Blackthorn Castle.
    Saundra could not have written the letter unless someone had mailed it long after she had died. He found it impossible to believe his grandmother would have done such a thing without his consent. But still . . . His grandmother and Christel’s had always been close friends. Or else the letter had merely got lost for almost two years.
    â€œI was not aware you and Saundra communicated,” he said so casually that the question seemed to startle her.
    He looked up from the letter into her liquid blue eyes. “Why?” she asked. “Because I am the family scandal?”
    â€œThat is not what I meant,” he said quietly.
    â€œWe wrote to each other often.” She tucked her arms in her cloak. “Now that the war is over, you must know that