Read Online Kitty Little by Freda Lightfoot - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Freda Lightfoot
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me. Not like this.’
Charlotte was laughing as she slipped from the room, though the smile faded the instant she’d closed the door. Entering her husband’s bedroom she found him, as expected, far from sleep for all the lateness of the hour. Seated at his desk by the wide bay window he scarcely troubled to glance up from the letter he was writing as she approached.
‘His best stallion, remember. Rude Awakening . Rather an apt name, don’t you think, since that’s what young Tommy will get once the deed is done. I’m sure you can find some way to bring the subject into the conversation.’ He cast her a mocking glance. ‘You do find time to talk, I suppose?’
‘Of course.’ Charlotte shivered and rubbed her arms, though the room was stuffy and over-warm.
‘Make sure he thinks the request comes entirely from you. Tell him I only ever give you dull grey mares with sway backs, and you’re looking for something more spirited and challenging.’
‘I came to see if you’d changed your mind.’
He laughed, yet there was little mirth in the sound. ‘It’s young Lord Bickerstaff, now reposing in your boudoir, whose mind must be changed. He’s refused to allow any of his stallions to service my mares but, as my own father taught me, there’s more than one way of skinning a cat.’
Contrarily now Charlotte felt hot and light-headed, as if the closeness of the room were suffocating her. ‘Why must you use me in your schemes, as if I were simply another of your damn mares needing servicing?’
He got slowly to his feet and grasping a lock of her baby-soft golden hair, pulled her towards him, causing her to cry out. Why all the fuss dearest? He’s simply an eager young stud in need of a little pleasuring. And you’re welcome to give that to him, so long as my price is met. Do I need to make my wishes plainer?’
Charlotte gazed into the handsome face mere inches from her own and knew a genuine hatred. She‘d been fond enough of Magnus Gilpin when she’d agreed to grace his home with her beauty and his bed with her passion, even if it were not quite the rapturous love match she’d once dreamed of. Charlotte had hoped all that would come later. Why should it not? In the meantime, she’d been more than content with her lot. He owned a large country estate, kept several horses and dubbed himself a gentleman farmer, having shaken off all connection with the origin of his wealth gained for him by his manufacturing father in the woollen trade.
Charlotte’s lips curled with distaste as she wrenched herself from his grip and went to lean against the cold window frame, again rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if to rid herself of his touch upon the silky skin. ‘It’s plain enough, Magnus. Whether I’ll succeed is another matter.’
‘You must . You know I will not tolerate losing.’
She could see only her own face in the glass, made opaque by the fading evening light beyond, blanking out the scene of rolling parkland. Rain was streaming down, bouncing off the stone sill and rushing on down the facade of her prison walls. Charlotte had once thought this one of the finest country houses in Yorkshire, almost a palace. It had long since become almost like a prison.
The day she’d slipped in the snow and literally fallen at his feet, exhausted after a hard day’s work in the mill had changed her entire life. Magnus Gilpin, playing the role of perfect gentleman, had instantly come to her aid.
He’d looked upon her classic beauty with its neat straight nose, pert chin and porcelain skin and been mad to possess her. ‘I always yearned to pick up a girl out of the gutter,’ he’d told her, dusting off the snow that clung to her coat with a lingering hand. Because he‘d looked so handsome and his white teeth flashed so charmingly as he laughed, they’d married a mere three months later, causing quite a stir. ‘My pretty waif,’ he’d called her. ‘My charming vagabond.’
Charlotte had let him
Charlotte was laughing as she slipped from the room, though the smile faded the instant she’d closed the door. Entering her husband’s bedroom she found him, as expected, far from sleep for all the lateness of the hour. Seated at his desk by the wide bay window he scarcely troubled to glance up from the letter he was writing as she approached.
‘His best stallion, remember. Rude Awakening . Rather an apt name, don’t you think, since that’s what young Tommy will get once the deed is done. I’m sure you can find some way to bring the subject into the conversation.’ He cast her a mocking glance. ‘You do find time to talk, I suppose?’
‘Of course.’ Charlotte shivered and rubbed her arms, though the room was stuffy and over-warm.
‘Make sure he thinks the request comes entirely from you. Tell him I only ever give you dull grey mares with sway backs, and you’re looking for something more spirited and challenging.’
‘I came to see if you’d changed your mind.’
He laughed, yet there was little mirth in the sound. ‘It’s young Lord Bickerstaff, now reposing in your boudoir, whose mind must be changed. He’s refused to allow any of his stallions to service my mares but, as my own father taught me, there’s more than one way of skinning a cat.’
Contrarily now Charlotte felt hot and light-headed, as if the closeness of the room were suffocating her. ‘Why must you use me in your schemes, as if I were simply another of your damn mares needing servicing?’
He got slowly to his feet and grasping a lock of her baby-soft golden hair, pulled her towards him, causing her to cry out. Why all the fuss dearest? He’s simply an eager young stud in need of a little pleasuring. And you’re welcome to give that to him, so long as my price is met. Do I need to make my wishes plainer?’
Charlotte gazed into the handsome face mere inches from her own and knew a genuine hatred. She‘d been fond enough of Magnus Gilpin when she’d agreed to grace his home with her beauty and his bed with her passion, even if it were not quite the rapturous love match she’d once dreamed of. Charlotte had hoped all that would come later. Why should it not? In the meantime, she’d been more than content with her lot. He owned a large country estate, kept several horses and dubbed himself a gentleman farmer, having shaken off all connection with the origin of his wealth gained for him by his manufacturing father in the woollen trade.
Charlotte’s lips curled with distaste as she wrenched herself from his grip and went to lean against the cold window frame, again rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if to rid herself of his touch upon the silky skin. ‘It’s plain enough, Magnus. Whether I’ll succeed is another matter.’
‘You must . You know I will not tolerate losing.’
She could see only her own face in the glass, made opaque by the fading evening light beyond, blanking out the scene of rolling parkland. Rain was streaming down, bouncing off the stone sill and rushing on down the facade of her prison walls. Charlotte had once thought this one of the finest country houses in Yorkshire, almost a palace. It had long since become almost like a prison.
The day she’d slipped in the snow and literally fallen at his feet, exhausted after a hard day’s work in the mill had changed her entire life. Magnus Gilpin, playing the role of perfect gentleman, had instantly come to her aid.
He’d looked upon her classic beauty with its neat straight nose, pert chin and porcelain skin and been mad to possess her. ‘I always yearned to pick up a girl out of the gutter,’ he’d told her, dusting off the snow that clung to her coat with a lingering hand. Because he‘d looked so handsome and his white teeth flashed so charmingly as he laughed, they’d married a mere three months later, causing quite a stir. ‘My pretty waif,’ he’d called her. ‘My charming vagabond.’
Charlotte had let him
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