sinner.
“I shall take your silence as agreement then, Miss Barrington,” he said in a chilling tone of voice that told her how deeply she had offended him with her apparent indifference to what he must have considered an earthshaking decision.
Agreement to what, she wondered, but was afraid to ask. For gone was the kindly man of but a moment ago and in his place the arrogant aristocrat who had first greeted her when she’d arrived at Meg’s engagement ball.
“Very well then, since that is settled, I shall take my leave of you,” he said, rising to his feet and heading for the door.
“What is settled?”
He turned back with obvious impatience. “Have you listened to nothing I’ve said? I have agreed to sever any connections which might endanger the success of our upcoming marriage and I shall expect you to do the same.”
Startled, Maeve heard herself protest, “You cannot be serious. I have no such connections.”
“Maybe not in the true sense of the word, but you are dangling Richard Forsythe like a puppet on a string.” The earl’s eyes glittered dangerously and a certain inflection in his voice told her he was indeed deadly serious. “Cut him loose. He is a good man and deserves better than to waste his time pining for a woman he can never have—and he can never have you.”
He reached for his gloves and high crown beaver which he’d earlier deposited on a small table just inside the door of the salon. “The idea might not appeal to you, but the fact remains you are mine, Meg Barrington.”
His beautifully defined lips curved in a smile, but his eyes remained cold, hard chips of gleaming onyx. “And you would do well to remember that I never share what is mine.”
CHAPTER SIX
M aeve watched out the window as Theo mounted his horse and rode off down the long, tree-lined driveway. She found herself wishing desperately she could have told the high and mighty Earl of Lynley that the woman about whom he had suddenly become so possessive was an imposter. Even worse, that both she and his bride-to-be, whom she impersonated, were the daughters of a high-priced London whore and a drunken country squire who slept in the kennel with his hounds.
She smiled, imagining the look of horror on his handsome face when he realized that to get his hands on the Barrington money, he must foul the blue blood flowing through his aristocratic veins. She felt certain the squire had never touched on that interesting fact when he negotiated the marriage settlement.
In truth, if there hadn’t been so much at stake for everyone concerned in this bizarre betrothal, it might almost be considered comical. Certainly, it had all the elements of a Drury Lane farce.
With a heartfelt sigh, she resigned herself to two more weeks of participating in the madness and retired to the music room to soothe her frustration at the pianoforte. By rights, she should be working on her drawings; they were, after all, where her future lay. But her nerves were much too jangled from Theo’s visit to allow her to concentrate.
She didn’t have to concentrate when she played her music. She had worked so long and so diligently on mastering the intricate compositions she loved, her fingers simply glided over the keys—effortlessly recreating what she had previously stored in the depths of her mind and soul.
“There’s a note come for you from Ravenswood, Miss.” The maid, Lucy, hovered in the doorway, her eyes bright with excitement. “It must be from the earl, and after he’s already called on you and brought such pretty flowers too.” She sighed. “It’s so romantical.”
“If the note is indeed from him, he must have ridden ventre à terre all the way to Ravenswood and scribbled it before he took time to remove his hat and gloves,” Maeve said drily, perusing the square of rich vellum embossed with the earl’s crest.
Her head snapped up as she suddenly realized what Lucy had said. “Flowers? What flowers are you talking
“I shall take your silence as agreement then, Miss Barrington,” he said in a chilling tone of voice that told her how deeply she had offended him with her apparent indifference to what he must have considered an earthshaking decision.
Agreement to what, she wondered, but was afraid to ask. For gone was the kindly man of but a moment ago and in his place the arrogant aristocrat who had first greeted her when she’d arrived at Meg’s engagement ball.
“Very well then, since that is settled, I shall take my leave of you,” he said, rising to his feet and heading for the door.
“What is settled?”
He turned back with obvious impatience. “Have you listened to nothing I’ve said? I have agreed to sever any connections which might endanger the success of our upcoming marriage and I shall expect you to do the same.”
Startled, Maeve heard herself protest, “You cannot be serious. I have no such connections.”
“Maybe not in the true sense of the word, but you are dangling Richard Forsythe like a puppet on a string.” The earl’s eyes glittered dangerously and a certain inflection in his voice told her he was indeed deadly serious. “Cut him loose. He is a good man and deserves better than to waste his time pining for a woman he can never have—and he can never have you.”
He reached for his gloves and high crown beaver which he’d earlier deposited on a small table just inside the door of the salon. “The idea might not appeal to you, but the fact remains you are mine, Meg Barrington.”
His beautifully defined lips curved in a smile, but his eyes remained cold, hard chips of gleaming onyx. “And you would do well to remember that I never share what is mine.”
CHAPTER SIX
M aeve watched out the window as Theo mounted his horse and rode off down the long, tree-lined driveway. She found herself wishing desperately she could have told the high and mighty Earl of Lynley that the woman about whom he had suddenly become so possessive was an imposter. Even worse, that both she and his bride-to-be, whom she impersonated, were the daughters of a high-priced London whore and a drunken country squire who slept in the kennel with his hounds.
She smiled, imagining the look of horror on his handsome face when he realized that to get his hands on the Barrington money, he must foul the blue blood flowing through his aristocratic veins. She felt certain the squire had never touched on that interesting fact when he negotiated the marriage settlement.
In truth, if there hadn’t been so much at stake for everyone concerned in this bizarre betrothal, it might almost be considered comical. Certainly, it had all the elements of a Drury Lane farce.
With a heartfelt sigh, she resigned herself to two more weeks of participating in the madness and retired to the music room to soothe her frustration at the pianoforte. By rights, she should be working on her drawings; they were, after all, where her future lay. But her nerves were much too jangled from Theo’s visit to allow her to concentrate.
She didn’t have to concentrate when she played her music. She had worked so long and so diligently on mastering the intricate compositions she loved, her fingers simply glided over the keys—effortlessly recreating what she had previously stored in the depths of her mind and soul.
“There’s a note come for you from Ravenswood, Miss.” The maid, Lucy, hovered in the doorway, her eyes bright with excitement. “It must be from the earl, and after he’s already called on you and brought such pretty flowers too.” She sighed. “It’s so romantical.”
“If the note is indeed from him, he must have ridden ventre à terre all the way to Ravenswood and scribbled it before he took time to remove his hat and gloves,” Maeve said drily, perusing the square of rich vellum embossed with the earl’s crest.
Her head snapped up as she suddenly realized what Lucy had said. “Flowers? What flowers are you talking
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