Read Again, My Lord: A Twist Series Novel for Free Online Page A

sinuous yet its eyes as lifeless as they were in candlelight.
    Then she went in search of tea.
    As she exited her room, a cat slinking along the corridor lifted its head and bounded toward her. Curling around her ankles, it meowed.
    “Oh, go away, do. You will rub hair all over my hem.” Gently toeing it aside with the tip of her boot, she went to the stairs.
    As she descended, the innkeeper’s wife bustled from the taproom toward a closed door off the foyer, her arms brimming with plates of eggs and bacon.
    “Good day, milady!” She offered Calista a harried smile between bright red cheeks. “The inn’s all filled up with the rain bringing people in off the road last night, and I’ve my hands full at present. But I’ll be with you right quick. Will you be having tea or coffee?”
    “Tea, please.” Her head ached and her stomach was sick with hunger. “Does the church bell ring at seven o’clock
every
day of the week, not only Sundays?”
    The round little woman bustled toward the closed door. “Oh, no, milady! On Sundays Old Mary doesn’t ring till
eight
o’clock.”
    Calista turned toward the open taproom door, steeling herself. But
he
must have left already. Even if he had not, he certainly would not be eating in a common taproom; he was probably behind that closed door Mrs. Whittle had gone into, a private parlor, no doubt. Also, she was a grown woman now. Wherever the wretched Marquess of Dare was, nervous stomachs were for stupid young girls. Not for her. Not in years.
    Not only had the Marquess of Dare not departed the inn, but he sat in the opposite corner of the taproom in a chair facing the door. Among the dozen other guests present—mostly tradesmen by the look of their clothing—his table alone had an empty place. News journal unfolded before him, coffee cup and empty plate at his elbow, he appeared perfectly at ease.
    A marquess in a common taproom? Perhaps in dire straits, yes. But even then she would not have thought it possible of
this
marquess.
    He lifted his gaze to her. Standing, he folded his paper and moved across the room toward her.
    “Good day, madam. The table is yours.”
    “Won’t Lord Mallory be breakfasting as well?”
    He looked down at her with those stormy eyes and made a swift, open perusal of her features.
    “He continued on to his destination last night. But if he were taking breakfast here now, I am certain he would be delighted to share the table with you. You’ve had a near miss. He never forsakes the opportunity to flirt outrageously with a beautiful woman.” Almost—
almost
—amusement glimmered in the gray. He bowed. “I wish you a good journey.”
    “No one’ll be making any journeys from here today,” came a gruff voice at the door. A man with white whiskers and a crisp cap shook rain from his coat and wagged his head. “The ford’s four feet high if it’s an inch, and the north road’s flooded out clear across the valley.”
    Calista pivoted to him. “The road is flooded?”
    “’Fraid so, mum.” He repeated the rueful shake of his head like a bad actor in a penny play. “Did the same after the storm of ’09. Swinly might as well be an island today.”
    “What do you mean?” Lord Dare said. “This village is now encircled by water?”
    Others were gathering behind him to hear the news. The innkeeper had come from the kitchen holding a pot of coffee in one hand, and a cup and saucer in the other.
    “Like a sailing ship upon the ocean, sir,” the man said. “Not only the village. Butcher’s fields to the north and Drover’s field to the east as well. Hip deep, they are.”
    “Glory be!” the innkeeper exclaimed. “And Mr. Whittle still in Wallings. I told him he’d best return yesterday, but he’d hear nothing of it till he’d got that new milking cow he wanted. Stubborn man.”
    A serving maid came from behind the other door. Mrs. Whittle thrust the pot and cup into her hands.
    “Here now, Molly, wipe that table over there and