Read Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 02] for Free Online

drawing in her hands. Once more, this time concentrating on the powdered hair and the man’s fluid catlike grace and his silvery eyes—
    The drawing met the same fate as the first, as did the next, and the next. She wasn’t concentrating! Just when she thought she’d pinned down the very features to exaggerate, she would start to think on the breadth of his frame, or his eyes, or something else entirely useless to her plan.
    Perhaps she was still distracted by the other episode last night. Yes, of course. How could she possibly concentrate for wondering who had loosened her corset and left her half-naked in the garden? Honestly, anyone would be diverted by such a question.
    Clara pushed aside her sketching materials and leaned back in her chair. Well, who could it have been? She didn’t remember anything beyond being unable to breathe and making for the air outside. She had obviously made it to the garden, and someone had come upon her there.
    Not another woman, for it would take a man’sstrength to tear the strings from their holes.
    Though it gave her a shiver, she forced herself to consider that a strange man had touched her and half-undressed her. But only to help her, surely? Once she had been safely freed, hadn’t he discreetly left so as not to cause her further embarrassment?
    But who?
    She knew the names of most of the men in the ballroom last night, though she had been introduced to very few. After all, she could hardly do her work without a thorough knowledge of her subjects. She even vaguely recalled seeing the Prime Minister himself there.
    But he had come inside before she had gone out. Sir Impostor had been about somewhere, but she didn’t see him as the rescuing sort. And there was that fair-haired man who had been so concerned—
    Oh, dear.
    Clara bit her lip. Perhaps she didn’t want to know what had happened. After all, she was fine now. Nary a bruise to show rough handling, and she was no child. She knew what handling felt like and she was quite prepared to vow there had been none of it.
    So some mysterious gentleman had come to her aid and left her once she’d been aided. There was nothing more to it than that.
    She shook off the thought and bent to her task once more. Perhaps if she concentrated more on the dandified clothing and not so much on the man within it …
    Dalton Montmorency tried not to wince as James Cunnington took another brutal fall to the mat. The Liar’s Club fight instructor was not one to spare James justbecause he was second in command. If anything, Kurt would be all the harder on him.
    James lay panting on the mat that stretched the entire length and width of the room that had once been the cellar. The house that now held the spy school had been gutted and refitted with classrooms and bedchambers abovestairs, all very ordinary to the outside world once the highly irregular books and maps were stored away.
    However, the belowstairs had been converted to a very strange sort of gymnasium, apart from the kitchens. This area was covered by the mats that Kurt had made from sailcloth and straw, and the walls were lined with racks that held every weapon known to civilization and a few that were not. Straw-stuffed mannequins stood at attention beside the racks, ready to do battle with unsuspecting students. Someone had painted curling mustaches on the canvas faces and a few even wore scraps of tattered French uniforms.
    James groaned. Dalton left his position holding up the wall to step carefully onto the mat and bend over his second. “Are you still with us, then?”
    “No. Sorry. Quite dead, I’m afraid.”
    Kurt planted broad hands on broader hips and grunted. “Still got a mouth on ‘im. He’ll do for another round.”
    James shuddered. “Dalton,” he gasped. “Have mercy. Kill me now.”
    Dalton shrugged. “Can’t be done. If you don’t work that shoulder, you’ll never be ready to return to work.” Then he looked up at Kurt. “What do you think? Is he