Read Jo Beverly for Free Online Page B

around the snuff as he considered. “The nearest is Cheynings, which is ruled over by my grandmother. I doubt she would be welcoming.”
    “She would hardly murder an innocent child.”
    He snapped the box shut, suppressing a smile of satisfaction. “A mistake, Miss Smith. You clearly don’t know the cause of our family discord.”
    She looked around. “No, my lord.”
    “The murder of an innocent child,” he told her, watching her every reaction. “Nearly forty years ago, my aunt, Lady Augusta Trayce, a sweet and lively young lady of sixteen, married Lord Grafton, heir to the Marquess of Rothgar.”
    He saw no start of guilt.
    “Four years later, surely as a result of extreme cruelty, she went mad and murdered her newborn babe. She died herself not long after—which was convenient for her husband, who could marry again.”
    Miss Smith looked to the old ladies for confirmation. Surely even the greatest actress could not turn pale on command.
    “Such a bright and beautiful girl,” Lady Thalia sighed.
    “Too pretty by far, and a wild piece,” Lady Calliope said, “but she didn’t deserve such treatment.”
    “But if Lord Rothgar is your great-nephew,” Miss Smith said, “he must be this Lady Augusta’s child.”
    Thalia answered that. “Augusta’s firstborn, dear.
Such
a sweet child, and so very clever! I remember that he enjoyed apricot crisps, so I have brought some for him.”
    Ash almost laughed. He’d give a fortune to see Rothgar’s face then!
    “But surely,” Miss Smith said, in battle order again, “if there was wrongdoing, the Marquess of Rothgar would be as keen for justice for his mother as her own family.”
    “Yet the matter gives him no obvious unease,” Ashart replied. “True, he put around a rumor that he would not marry because of the madness in his blood—his Trayce blood. That helped protect his father’s memory for years. But behold, he is now married without a qualm. Proof, wouldn’t you say?”
    “No. What of love?”
    “What of it?”
    “Come, come, my lord. History is full of crowns and even lives lost for love.”
    “Lust, perhaps, Miss Smith, not love. And lust, of course, does not require marriage.”
    She flinched. Devil take it, could she be telling the truth? Could she be an innocent Samaritan?
    “About the baby,” she said, rather desperately.
    Thalia sat up straighter. “I know. We will take him to Rothgar Abbey!”
    He wasn’t the only one struck dumb by the notion. “Arrive at Rothgar Abbey with a misbegotten infant in train?” But then Ash laughed. “Well, why not? It is Christmas, after all. Do I need to provide an ass?”
    Miss Smith shot him a look that clearly said that they already had one. Him.
    Outrage turned instantly to amusement and arousal. Devil take it, but she was an exciting woman. Whatever the truth of her situation here, she clearly was no angel. She was too ripe, too bold, too responsive to a kiss. Sparks flew from her, igniting fires in him, and she knew it.
    What a pity he couldn’t stay at Rothgar Abbey to investigate Miss Smith at leisure, not to mention witness his haughty cousin’s handling of the return of his pawn and his reception of nursery treats. It would also make it easier to assess exactly how to use his weapon.
    It wouldn’t do, though. It would look as if he was accepting the invitation, as if he was ready to sue for peace. He probably shouldn’t return the pawn, either. Devil alone knew what Rothgar would do with it next. Cheynings would be a better option, but Thalia would be hard to convince.
    Snares and entanglements. He raised his glass and wryly toasted the three ladies. “To Christmas, and all merriment of the season.”

Chapter Seven
    G  enova returned the toast, but she recognized malicious enjoyment behind it. She should be wary, if not afraid, yet something was firing her blood as it had not been in an age.
    Not something. Someone. The Marquess of Ashart. In the year since her father’s retirement,