My Favorite Bride (Gov 6) by Christina Dodd

Author:Christina Dodd [Dodd, Christina]
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2010-09-26T06:34:21.054000+00:00

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“No, my lady, but I understand one thing.” Samantha allowed her eyes to twinkle at Duncan. “If I were

Mr. Monroe, I would be wary before I tried to hold you up again.”

Duncan’s eyes twinkled back. “In the future, I intend to take the greatest care of Lady Marchant.”

At Maitland Manor, the Featherstonebaugh servants rose and fell in a wave of obeisance. Usually Valda

enjoyed the sight, but now, livid with rage, she swept up the steps and past the line of servants without

looking at any of them.

She heard the gasps and titters from the maids as Rupert tottered in behind her, pinching their

cheeks—and lower.

Her eyes narrowed. The stupid old fool had even tried his moves on her, and she, like an idiot, had

succumbed. Then, while she slept, he had attempted to sneak out and escape from her. He still didn’t

believe they were in danger. If only he didn’t know so much, she would kill him.

She would enjoy killing him.

As she stepped inside, the butler followed and took her coat and hat. “My lady, we didn’t know when

to expect you.”

She glanced around. Maitland was a beautiful home, a glorious eighteenth-century manor set in a

jewellike valley, stocked full of great works of art and valuable knickknacks, and she would have to

leave it all. It made her sick. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.” Except for the map she’d stolen on her

way here. A cretin named Captain Farwell had left it locked in his trunk, and while she didn’t usually take

things so easily traced, it no longer mattered if Captain Farwell knew where his map had gone, because

she was taking transport to Ireland, and then on to Italy, and no one could trace her there.

The map showed the location and number of every English spy in Russia. She would sell it for a tidy

sum, and that would be a kind of insurance in case something went wrong. It was just her old sense of

caution flaring up; except for Rupert and his stupid antics, since they’d left Blythe Manor, everything had

gone absolutely right.

It was enough to frighten a woman to death.

The butler continued, “But your guest did warn us you would be coming, so—”

She swung on him. “My guest?” The back of her neck prickled. “Who would that be?”

The voice she wanted least to hear—an accented voice, an elegant voice—echoed through the foyer.

“Me, of course. Your dear friend, Count Gayeff Fiers Pashenka.”

Unhurriedly, she turned back to face him.

Tall, handsome, austere, he stood with a pistol concealed—although not well—in his pocket. A pistol

pointed right at her heart.

Chapter Seventeen

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The guest cottage was very nice. Tiny, but nice. The perfect refuge for someone who wanted to avoid

the guests pouring onto the estate.

Whitewashed inside and out, the cottage was on a single level, and set in a garden of white phlox and

pinks, purple pansies and scarlet begonias. A covered porch led to the front door, with rocking chairs

and a table in case the guest wished to sit and admire the view of the mountains.

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