Read Beneath a Silent Moon for Free Online

thrives in war and doesn't know what to do with himself in peacetime."
    "When he wrote to us in September he said he was in Andalusia. Which doesn't mean that's actually where he was."
    "Quite. Francisco wasn't overfond of King Ferdinand. I could see him leaving Spain for France if excitement beckoned. If he got mixed up with Bonapartists he might have felt it wasn't safe to tell me as a British diplomat. But as to what the devil brought him to England and why his life would be in danger—"
    "Whoever the woman is, she was terrified. You could see it in her eyes. And Francisco doesn't panic easily."
    "Quite the reverse. He's absurdly confident in the most precarious of situations." Charles's voice was thoughtful, but there was a hard edge underneath. "That's one thing I'm sure of."
    "What?"
    "If Francisco says someone's trying to kill him, the danger is real."
    The carriage drew up before the house in South Audley Street that David Mallinson had hired for them before they returned to Britain. After three months, it still felt more alien than their myriad of Continental lodgings. Even the smell, a peculiarly English combination of lemon oil, lavender, and beeswax, jarred as they stepped into the entrance hall.
    Michael, the footman, a boy from Charles's grandfather's estate in Ireland, was dozing on the settle by the door.
    Charles touched him on the shoulder and told him to lock up. They lit candles from the Agrand lamp on the hall table, climbed the stairs, and peeked into their children's rooms. Jessica, six months, lay on her back in her cradle, a tiny fist curled against the embroidered coverlet, downy head flopped to one side. Colin, almost four, was sprawled beneath his quilt, one arm flung above his head, the other stretched across the pillow. Mélanie straightened the covers. Charles patted Berowne, the family cat, who was curled up on the foot of the bed.
    They closed the door softly and made their way to their bedchamber. Charles shrugged off his coat and loosened his cravat. Mélanie removed her cloak and dropped her lace shawl on a chair. The rattle of the crystal beads echoed through the quiet.
    Neither of them had mentioned Charles's father's betrothal to Honoria Talbot. The fact of it hung over the room, a heavier burden than tomorrow night's rendezvous with Francisco Soro. She could be no more certain of how Charles felt about the betrothal than she could of the reasons Francisco claimed his life was in danger. As for Charles, he was doing what he always did when he didn't want to talk about something. Pretending it hadn't happened.
    "Thank God," Mélanie said. "At least this proves you don't expect me to dwindle into a conformable wife."
    "I never wanted a conformable wife, and well you know it."
    "Dearest," she said before she could think better of it, "you never wanted a wife at all."
    "With my family history?" Charles picked up a tinderbox to light the lamps. "I'd have been mad to do so."
    The air between them seemed to thicken, as though a host of unspoken words had rushed in to fill the silence. "I should look at your hand." Mélanie moved to the cabinet where she kept her medical supplies.
    A flint sparked against steel. "Leave it, Mel, it's only a scratch."
    "Even scratches can fester." She crossed back to him, carrying a flask of brandy, scissors, and a roll of lint.
    Charles grimaced but held still while she unwrapped the makeshift bandage. The handkerchief was matted with dried blood, and an angry red gash stood out against his palm. "I didn't realize how bad it was," she said. "It must hurt."
    "If you keep pulling at it." He winced as she dabbed at the cut with a length of brandy-soaked lint. "Quite like old times."
    "If this were old times, I'd be more likely to be digging a bullet out of you. Hold still, Charles."
    His gaze shifted to a hunting print on the wall opposite, a relic of the previous tenant. She snipped off a length of lint. The ticking of the gilt clock on the mantel and the patter of