Viridian (The Hundred-Days Series Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

check himself again, after their earlier encounter, to see
what might be missing.
    Fouche buried his face in her
breasts, gathering fistfuls of red velvet with the uncouth eagerness of a rutting
hog. Ty rolled his eyes. A woman should be charmed, seduced. It disgusted but
didn't surprise him that Fouche lacked the skill for either one.
    She could handle herself, he
reasoned, and he doubted she needed his help. Let her do whatever it was she did,
and he could claim the letters once they were out of Fouche's proximity.
    Or he could interfere . Spare
her and claim his prize double-quick.
    At an undignified grunt from
Fouche, Ty groaned, knowing he was going to help her.
    What was he doing? There was no
answer. He drew taut and rammed the door open with his shoulder. “Sarah! What
in bloody hell are you doing? Who is he?”
    Fouche went rigid, turning in such
a hurry that his elbow nearly caught her in the face. He harpooned Ty with an
accusing finger. “Who are you ?”
    “I'm her goddamned husband, sir!”
There were few things more terrifying in close quarters than jealous husband.
    Over Fouche's shoulder, Ty caught
her slip the letters into her bodice without missing a step.
    The game was fun when she played
along. Not that they were on the same side, but there was no harm in make
believe.
    Ty raised a fist at his lovely
goddess. “I told you last time I would throttle you publicly, and I mean to do
just that!” He lunged left around Fouche and she went right. Darting by, he
gave Fouche's shoulder two sharp pats. “Sorry, old hat! She's an incorrigible
light skirt.”
    “Ooh!” The insult earned him a
glare, thrown over her shoulder so that she almost tripped on the coat rack.
    On his second pass, Ty crooked an
arm, hooked Fouche's neck, and squeezed. It was a delicate balance, not
fracturing small bones or crushing the throat, applying just enough pressure to
slow the blood and bring collapse. After the barest resistance, Fouche's long
legs folded, and he crumpled with a meaty thud against the tile.
    Panting, Ty rested one hand on his
knee, raking the other at her wide-eyed expression. “Come on, hand them over.”
    “You cannot just leave him like
that!” she protested. “Someone is bound to see.”
    Her voice was an instrument, rich and
musical. Soft, and surprisingly, very English.
    Glancing left and right, he
snatched the first handy cloak, tossing it with a half-effort over the boney
heap. “There. Now give them to me.”
    She tensed, sizing him up with slit
eyes and Ty knew he had made a grave mistake. In circling Fouche, he had
allowed her to gain the other side of the room. He raised a hand. “Don’t. I can
outrun you any day of the week.”
    She hovered at the door. When he
pounced, she ran.
    A primitive, instinctual part of
him registered the door's creak a breath before he reached it. He skidded to a
halt as it shuddered in the frame, just in time to miss catching a faceful of
wood. “Open, you bloody heap of kindling!” he grumbled. The knob was old and
loose; he cranked fully to the left and right before it finally unlatched.
    Ty was sure of being right behind
her, but as he passed through the hallway and the entry to the outside steps,
there was no hint of her existence. His Roman goddess had vanished into thin
air.
     
    *          *          *
     
    She had to get clear of the
estate.
    Olivia huddled in the carriage's
foot well, catching her breath. She'd chosen one close enough to the house that
she could climb in before the Fox caught up and far enough away that she could
gain a decent head start if he decided to search in earnest. She would have run
already, if she could be certain he wasn't right behind her. Without knowing
the grounds well enough to make an educated escape, tearing through dark woods
ahead of her sounded, at best, like a broken neck. No . Better to wait
him out concealed, making a move in her own time.
    The game was just between the two
of them, but not