To Love a Wicked Lord Read Online Free Page B

or a beard if he wants to look ancient. He can color his hair, wear different clothing, even shave his head. He can alter his height by the boots he wears and the way he walks in them. Average height and dark-haired, then. What of his family? Where are they situated?”
    Pippa looked down at her hands. “He was an orphan, like me; brought up by his own grandmother, but she passed away years ago. He said he’d only a few cousins left and those, far-flung.”
    â€œI see. And where did all this tragedy occur?”
    She looked at him blankly.
    He sighed. “Where was he born? Where did he pass his childhood?”
    â€œOh!” she said, coloring slightly because shehadn’t understood him. Then she sat up straighter. “He was born in Maidstone. He was seven when his parents died in an accident. Then he went to West Houghton to live with his grandparents.”
    â€œWest Houghton?” her interrogator mused. “That’s between Folkestone and Dover. Both busy ports to and from France when we are not at war. And,” he added with a slightly twisted smile, ”perhaps even more so when we are.”
    â€œAre you implying that he was a spy, or a smuggler?” she asked incredulously.
    He waved a languid hand. “Oh, everyone is said to be a spy or a smuggler these days.”
    â€œEven you?” she shot back.
    He smiled. “Aye, even I.”
    â€œI can’t believe that.”
    â€œWhy not?” he asked with interest.
    She bit her lips.
    â€œBecause I am personable?” he asked. “Or because, with more honesty, I am considered a fribble? You mustn’t judge a book by its cover. Why, just look at your lost love, Noel…if you could, of course. He seemed forthright and true, didn’t he?”
    Pippa bridled, trying to think of something unspeakable to say, after she’d make it more speakable, of course.
    Her grandmother interrupted excitedly, “But, my dear Pippa, his lordship could only be pretending to being a fribble, like that fellow in my youth, oh, what was his name?”
    Pippa winced.
    Her grandmother didn’t notice, she was obviously thinking too hard. “You know, my dear, the nobleman who dressed in exquisite laces and satins and pretended he hated to get his toes wet, when all along while no one was watching he became France’s greatest enemy because it was all a hum. It was a disguise. He was really a brave spy and brilliant at freeing trapped English persons from French prisons. He was a fine duelist and the blight of the French secret police. Oh, what was his name? Percival or Perry or some such.”
    â€œHe was a legend, a rumor, a fantasy,” Pippa said flatly, refusing to look to see how the fribble seated opposite them was taking this. She doubted he was insulted. Or if he were, that he would let anyone see it. She didn’t know what got her angrier, his boredom or his interest. She thought his amusement was worst. “No one knows if he even existed, Grandmamma,” she said gently. “But the nation needed such a legendary hero then, King Arthur or Robin Hood.”
    â€œOh, but King Arthur was real,” her grandmother protested. “There are so many books about him and shrines dedicated to him and his knights. And what of Merlin? You’re not saying he didn’t exist? I’m surprised at you, my love. Robin Hood was real too. Your grandfather wrote a famously brilliant discourse on him. It appeared in the Gentleman’s Magazine .”
    â€œIndeed,” Lord Montrose said. “I read it.”
    Pippa ignored him and smiled at her grandmother. “Whatever the case, I am positive our guest is not such.”
    â€œYour host,” Lord Montrose put in, “I do not let the fairer sex pay for my dinners.”
    â€œExactly what I expected your attitude toward our gender to be,” Pippa said with satisfaction. “So be it. I excuse you of spy-Dom, my lord. In