The Runaway Baroness by Summer Hanford

Author:Summer Hanford
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2020-03-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Arland placed the letter to Mister Corlyne atop the pile to go out the following morning when his man went for sundries. Writing to inform the gentleman of Miss Corlyne’s whereabouts had been more difficult than anticipated. Each time Arland made to pen her name, an image formed in his mind: long, shapely limbs draped in the pine-green of his dressing gown; dark tresses spilled out across the sheepskin rug before his hearth; glowing white skin bathed in firelight. It was damnably difficult to write to a man about his daughter while picturing her that way. Each pen stroke seemed to radiate guilt.

That guilt was double edged, for it had been years since Arland last saw a woman other than his late wife in such a state of undress. He conjured Pricilla—dainty, blonde, prim. Miss Corlyne’s fire-kissed limbs drove the memory from his mind.

Alone in his sparsely furnished office, Arland scowled. The lass had some near-demonic hold on his imagination, but at least the letter was finished. He could move on to other tasks.

Only, he couldn’t, as he was now too restless to return to the pursuit of old invitations from half-forgotten acquaintances. He leaned back in his chair and stretched. A glance at the mantle clock showed the time as late afternoon. He’d worked through luncheon again, and tea, as he often did if Dacia didn’t appear to remind him. Undoubtedly, his daughter entertained Miss Corlyne and had forgotten all about her Da. Not that he blamed Dacia. Although Miss Corlyne was spoiled, young, and obviously willful, she was a far cry more interesting than Arland.

He stood and stretched a second time. He’d best go check on them. Even uninvited guests warranted a certain treatment. Arland hadn’t seen the lass since he carried her to her bed the night before. He’d been absent far too long for civility.

He checked the front parlor to find Missus Finn dozing alone, then headed toward the manor’s little library, where Dacia had unpacked her collection of ornithology books. Halfway down the hall, he caught strains of music. He adjusted his trajectory toward the small ballroom located on the other side of the hall. Despite the pianoforte’s need for tuning and the slow tempo, he recognized a common dance. He strode through the open doorway.

And stopped.

Pricilla, in the sea-green gown she’d worn the day they wed, sat beside Dacia at the pianoforte, teaching their daughter to play. Arland’s heart paused. His breath stilled.

But no. He blinked rapidly. Those dark locks didn’t match Dacia’s blonde braids, and the woman beside Dacia sat taller than Pricilla. He drew in a painful breath. Miss Corlyne.

“Where did you get that gown?” He didn’t mean for the words to come out in the growl they did.

Two heads swiveled to face him.

“We found it in a chest full of dresses,” Dacia said, undaunted.

Miss Corlyne smoothed the skirt. “They didn’t look as if anyone used them,” she said, voice soft.

Arland’s eyes narrowed. He read the sympathy in her gaze and hated the insipid emotion.

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