Citit - The Temptation of Your Touch by Teresa Medeiros

Author:Teresa Medeiros
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Pocket
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

ANNE FOUGHT TO SWALLOW back her own dismay. The last thing she needed was more meddlesome Burkes running around the manor, snapping out orders and poking their handsome aristocratic noses into matters that were none of their concern. “I suppose we can make ready some more rooms,” she said reluctantly.

The earl shot to his feet, forcing her to take a stumbling step backward. Raking a hand through his unruly hair, he began to pace back and forth across the room like a caged tiger. “You don’t understand. We have to write him back immediately. We have to stop them.”

“And just how do you propose to do that?”

“I don’t care how we do it. We’ll tell them the manor isn’t fit for habitation. We’ll tell them there’s a daft butler. And a surly footman. And a ghost. And an incontinent dog!”

Anne took advantage of his frenzied pacing to rescue the letter from the floor. As she scanned the remainder of it, she almost wished she had left it there. Hoping to soften the blow, she gently said, “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, my lord. As we learned when we received word that you were scheduled to arrive at the manor, the post is notoriously slow in getting to Cadgwyck. According to this letter, your brother and his family left Dryden Hall nearly a week ago. They’re scheduled to arrive here in less than two days.”

Dravenwood groaned. “Two days?” He abruptly changed direction, forcing her to quickly nudge the ottoman out of his path before he fell over it. “Damn him,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Damn them both.”

“I take it you don’t welcome their arrival?” she ventured cautiously.

“Of course I do,” he drawled with scathing sarcasm. “The same way I would welcome taking afternoon tea with Attila the Hun. Or a recurrence of the Black Plague.” He began to mutter again, more to himself than to her. “It’s just like him, isn’t it? Believing he can come here and somehow charm his way back into my good graces.” Dravenwood stopped in his tracks, as if struck by a new thought. “He may very well be coming here to kill me.”

“Have you done something that warrants killing?”

He gave her a sharp look. “You don’t look as if that would surprise you very much.”

Anne kept her face carefully blank. “What would you have me do, my lord?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed. “Your job, I suppose. Make ready their chambers,” he ordered, his dismay hardening into grim resignation. “As much as I’d like to, we can’t very well turn them away. I wouldn’t give him that much satisfaction.” His face brightened. “Perhaps if we feed them some of that slop you feed me, they won’t linger very long. But whatever you do”—he gave her such a threatening look she took an involuntary step backward—“do not give them any of your bread.”

ANNE HESITATED OUTSIDE THE closed study door. She had been dreading this moment all day, but there was no longer any way to put it off.

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