Silken Secrets Read Online Free Page B

meticulously barbered. It was brushed forward in the fashionable Brutus do. His profile, as he spoke to the clerk, was clean-cut. He had a sculptured nose and a granite-strong jaw. The eyes looked as black as thorn buds, and the overall contours of the face were extremely pleasing.
    He still wore afternoon clothes, but their London patina put the evening clothes of Dymchurch in the shade. A blue superfine jacket adhered to his body as closely as a second skin. A discreetly flowered waistcoat, an immaculate cravat, biscuit trousers, and shining Hessians completed his attire.
    “Is there some problem?” the stranger said to the servant. Mary Anne’s ears were enchanted with his deep, cultured voice, so unlike her uncle’s high-pitched whine. What must he be thinking of us? she wondered.
    Lord Edwin deigned to glance at the interloper then and was immediately struck by the fact that he was alone. The smallest parlor in the inn seated four. He stepped forward with a hungry smile and offered his hand. “Tempest in a teapot,” he explained. “It seems we’ve both reserved the same parlor. No reason we must behave like apes and squabble over it. We can act like the civilized gentlemen we are and share it, what? Happy for your company, Mr.—”
    The briefest flash of anger flickered over the gentleman’s face. Mary Anne, observing, felt this stranger wasn’t in the habit of being told what he would do. But while she watched, the anger disappeared, to be replaced by an equally brief flash of cunning. That was the unlikely word that occurred to her.
    Then the stranger smiled and took Lord Edwin’s outstretched hand. She wished she could think the smile had something to do with herself, but she knew it had not. He hadn’t even glanced at her.
    “Mr. Robertson,” the stranger said.
    “Lord Edwin Horton of Horton Hall, and this is my niece, Miss Judson.”
    “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” Mr. Robertson said with a city bow that had very little in common with the ungainly bobs usually seen in Dymchurch. The thorn bud eyes quickly ran over her toilette, lingering a moment on her face. Mary Anne flushed and smiled nervously. “An eye in him like a tiger,” Mrs. Plummer would say.
    The servant breathed a sigh of relief and led them to the parlor. As Mr. Robertson held Mary Anne’s chair, she noticed that he had a very winning smile, not at all predatory. He had nice white teeth, too, but the special charm of his smile owed more to his eyes than his mouth. The eyes glowed with interest and—was it possible?—admiration.
    “Thank you,” she said, so softly he didn’t hear.
    They ordered wine, and Lord Edwin, returned to spirits by his success, became cordial. “Mr. Robertson, what brings you to our fair village? Just passing through, I fancy?”
    “Actually I’m visiting a Mr. Vulch.”
    “Vulch, eh?” Lord Edwin nodded, while he mentally canvassed what such a loftly-looking lad could be doing with old Vulch. The possibilities were numerous. It could be business, politics, or it could be the lad was a relative.
    Mary Anne listened eagerly. It cropped into her head that he might have come to court Bess Vulch.
    “Are you acquainted with him?” Mr. Robertson asked.
    “I know him like a brother. Is he some kin to you?”
    “Oh, no. I’m here on business.”
    “From London, I presume?” Lord Edwin asked, as his eyes roamed over Mr. Robertson’s city style. Robertson nodded.
    “Whitehall?” Lord Edwin ventured.
    “Bond Street,” Mr. Robertson said.
    This caused Lord Edwin’s brow to lift in disparagement. He hadn’t planned to share his table with a merchant, but there you were. Never guess it to look at him that he was a hopped-up retailer. If the Cits were frequenting Weston, the gentlemen must find a new tailor.
    Mr. Robertson noticed the expression and held his own features immobile. “Perhaps you could direct me to Vulch’s place,” he said. “I understand he doesn’t