Read The Lady Chosen for Free Online

rise.
    Tristan grabbed his arm and hauled him up. “Don’t try to talk yet.” He hoisted Stolemore onto the chair. “Do you have any brandy?”
    Stolemore pointed to a cupboard. Tristan opened it, found the bottle and a glass, and poured a generous amount. He pushed the glass to Stolemore, recorked the bottle and placed it on the table before the agent.
    Slipping his hands into his greatcoat pockets, he leaned back against the narrow counter. Gave Stolemore a minute to regain his wits.
    But only a minute.
    “Who did it?”
    Stolemore squinted up at him through one half-closed eye. The other remained completely closed. He took another sip of brandy, dropped his gaze to the glass, then murmured, “Fell down the stairs.”
    “Fell down the stairs, walked into a door, hit your head on the table…I see.”
    Stolemore glanced up at him fleetingly, then lowered his gaze to the glass and kept it there. “Was an accident.”
    Tristan let a moment slip by, then quietly said, “If you say so.”
    At the note in his voice, one of menace that chilled the spine, Stolemore looked up, lips parting. His eye now wide, he rushed into speech. “I can’t tell you anything—bound by confidentiality, I am. And it don’t affect you gentlemen, not at all. I swear.”
    Tristan read what he could from the agent’s face, difficult given the swelling and bruising. “I see.” Whoever had punished Stolemore had been an amateur; he or indeed any of his ex-colleagues could have inflicted much greater damage yet left far less evidence.
    But there was no point, given Stolemore’s present condition, in going further down that road. He would simply lose consciousness again.
    Reaching into his pocket, Tristan withdrew the banker’s draft. “I’ve brought the final payment as agreed.” Stolemore’s eyes fastened on the slip of paper as he drew it back and forth between his fingers. “You have the title deed, I take it?”
    Stolemore grunted. “In a safe place.” Slowly, he pushed up from the table. “If you’ll stay here for a minute, I’ll fetch it.”
    Tristan nodded. He watched Stolemore hobble to the door. “No need to rush.”
    A small part of his mind tracked the lumbering agent as he moved through the house, identified the location of his “safe place” as under the third stair. For the most part, however, he stayed leaning against the counter, quietly adding two and two.
    And not liking the number he came up with.
    When Stolemore limped back, a title deed tied with ribbon in one hand, Tristan straightened. He held out a commanding hand; Stolemore gave him the deed. Unraveling the ribbon, he unrolled the deed, swiftly checked it, then rerolled it and slipped it into his pocket.
    Stolemore, wheezing, had slumped back into the chair.
    Tristan met his eyes. Raised the draft, held between two fingers. “One question, and then I’ll leave you.”
    Stolemore, his gaze all but blank, waited.
    “If I was to guess that whoever did this to you was the same person or persons who late last year hired you tonegotiate the purchase of Number 14 Montrose Place, would I be wrong?”
    The agent didn’t need to answer; the truth was there in his bloated face as he followed the carefully spaced words. Only when he had to decide how to reply did he stop to think.
    He blinked, painfully, then met Tristan’s gaze. His own remained dull. “I’m bound by confidentiality.”
    Tristan let a half minute slide by, then inclined his head. He flicked his fingers; the bank draft sailed down to the table, sliding toward Stolemore. He put out a large hand and trapped it.
    Tristan pushed away from the counter. “I’ll leave you to your business.”
     
    Half an hour after returning to the house, Leonora escaped the demands of the household and took refuge in the conservatory. The glass-walled and -roofed room was her own special place within the large house, her retreat.
    Her heels clicked on the tiled floor as she walked to the wrought-iron table and