Wicked Games (The Sun Never Sets Book 3) Read Online Free

into a pile of muddy slush, her bonnet knocked askew and her skirts sprawled out in an undignified heap.
    Sister Mary Louise—who fortunately had not been hit—was nonetheless startled. She emitted a cry of alarm and dropped her hymnal book. It landed in the puddle beside Brianna, splattering a fresh wave of mud (along with a dark substance that smelled suspiciously of horse manure) directly in her face.
    The group of boys who’d assaulted her roared with laughter, then took off at a run. Brianna surged to her feet, hurling fiery curses at her youthful assailants. Her retribution, slight as it had been, was utterly in vain. The boys hooted with glee and vanished back into the dark alleyways from whence they’d come, scattering into the night and disappearing without a trace.
    Father Tim’s missionary group huddled around her, their faces drawn in solicitous concern.
    “Thank you, but I’m quite all right,” Brianna grit out, determined to salvage whatever was left of her dignity. She tucked her clunky brass hand bell into her pocket and straightened her bonnet. Her skirts clung to her legs, a sodden mass of dark wool that soaked all the way through to her drawers, numbing her rear and causing rivulets of icy water to drip down the back of her thighs. Horse manure splattered her face and hair. Rancid tomato pulp dripped down her chest.
    Father Tim surveyed her from head to toe. He heaved a weary sigh, then lifted his bible. “We shall pray for their misguided souls,” he announced to the group at large.
    Brianna bit back a sharp retort. In her view, what the boys sorely needed was a few good wallops to their backsides…along with a mother and father who cared enough to see to it that they were properly bathed, fed, and tucked into their beds, rather than allowed to carouse through dark alleyways after midnight. She bowed her head and joined the prayer.
    “If you’ll excuse me,” she said as Father Tim finished, “I believe a change of clothing is in order.”
    “I’ll accompany you, my dear,” said Sister Mary Louise.
    “Thank you, Sister. That would be most appreciated.”
    The church rectory where Father Tim had found temporary quarters was only a few blocks away. Brianna took Sister Mary Louise’s arm and set off in that direction. But as Brianna adjusted her confident stride to match the elderly woman’s small, mincing steps, she immediately regretted accepting her offer to accompany her.
    “How bad is it?” she asked.
    Sister Mary Louise’s lips curved upward in a small smile. “Being old?” she said. “It’s not so awful.”
    Brianna couldn’t help but smile in return. “I meant your hip. Does it still pain you?”
    “Ah, that.” She tilted her head to one side and considered her infirmity. “It merely slows me down, child. A gentle reminder that I should be grateful for having been blessed with such a long life.” She gave Brianna’s arm a light squeeze. “But I didn’t come along so we could talk about me. It’s your situation we need to address.”
    Brianna fought back a fresh wave of anxiety. “You mean Mr. and Mrs. Caruthers? I’m sure they’ve just been delayed—”
    “I’m sure of no such thing. It’s time we address your situation.”
    “You believe I’ve been swindled?”
    “I’m afraid it does appear that way.”
    Brianna swallowed hard. She didn’t want to face the truth, but it appeared she could no longer put it off. She had wired funds—nearly all she had—to a couple she’d chanced to meet in a passing port who had promised to escort her to London. They had sent her several cheery letters assuring her that arrangements for coach and rail had been made, promising her they would meet her in Liverpool when her ship docked. But a week had passed with no word from them. Either something dire had happened to the Caruthers, or she had been taken for a fool, with no one to blame but herself. In her anxiousness to reach London, she had rashly wired the funds