Read Samantha James for Free Online

Papa say so. So you may as well come, for I won’t leave until you do.”
    Heather sought to fix her sister with a sternfully reproaching look. She failed abominably, and they both burst into laughter.
    But it seemed that Beatrice would have the last word after all. Bea looped her arm through hersas they passed through the doorway. She cast Heather a sidelong glance through curling blond lashes.
    “He is, you know.”
    Puzzled, Heather tipped her head in silent query.
    “Damien Lewis,” Bea said demurely. “He is the handsomest man in all England.”
     
    Damien did not return straightaway to the Eppingstone Inn. Instead he rode south and east, to the town of Willoughby. There was a small tavern near the river. Long tables were lined with men, their boisterous laughter and booming voices bouncing off the low ceiling. Tobacco smoke spiraled lazily upward. But in the corner by the door, a man sat alone, his back resting against the wall as he surveyed the scene before him. He was slender and unassuming, dressed in drab brown wool, not at all the sort of man one was apt to take notice of unless pointed out.
    Damien opened the door to a burst of laughter and smoke-filled air. The echo of his boots was lost amidst the din as he strode toward the bar. But before he was even halfway there, his elbow was seized by a buxom wench with curling brown hair and a generous, crooked-toothed smile.
    “Looking for a spot o’ale this fine evening, sir?”
    Damien inclined his head. “That I am,” he replied.
    “Then you’ve come to the right place.” She nodded toward the barkeep. “Douglas brews the best ale in Lancashire.”
    “Then I’m all the more eager to sample it.” Judging from the laden smell of her breath, she’d had more than her own share already.
    The wench grinned. “Maybe you’d like some company to go along with your ale, eh?” She ran her hand down his forearm and thrust her breast against his side; it was an unmistakable invitation.
    Damien’s eyes wandered over her upturned face. Her cheeks were ruddy and full, her lips chapped but wearing a ready smile. The wench was eager, her body warm and full and soft. It spun through his mind that this was not what he’d come for, but perhaps later…But no, for his own body was patently unresponsive—and despite the fact that it had been weeks since he’d lain with a woman, he suspected it would remain so.
    He retrieved a coin from his pocket. Pressing it into her palm, he gave a faint shake of his head. “Another time,” he said softly, then proceeded on his way.
    The man in the corner watched quietly as the barkeep filled a tankard with ale and handed it to Damien, who turned and retraced his steps to the door. Neither glance nor words passed between the two, but a moment later the man in the corner rose from his chair. His ale in hand, he slipped outside where it was quiet, where they wouldn’t be noticed…where they could talk.
    Damien stood with his back to the tavern, his posture rigidly upright, one booted foot braced against the rough bark of an oak tree. The man from the corner approached, the damp groundmuffling the sound of his footsteps. He halted several feet away from Damien but spoke not a word.
    It was Damien who broke the silence, his voice terse. “I got the position.”
    “Good. That will put you close to her. You’ll be aware of everything that goes on.”
    Cameron Lindsey’s voice held a note of quiet satisfaction. It was more than just money, though he was being amply paid. In all his years as an investigator, he’d never seen a man more driven than Damien Lewis Tremayne. But what was truly his quest? Vengeance? Justice? Satisfaction? It could have been any of these things…
    Or perhaps all of them.
    “She’s not what I expected.” Damien stared into the encroaching darkness. “I thought she would be like him. Like her father, a conniving, murdering bastard.” His tone was bitter, but then it turned almost accusing. “But