Read Online Linda Needham by My Wicked Earl - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: My Wicked Earl
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when she finally nodded. “Yes.”
“Then good.” He was now the keeper of Captain Spindleshanks’s wife. No doubt a better keeper than the man she had married.
Which gave him no peace at all.
“What about my clothes?” She got bristly and aimed her clipped tones at him. “You’ll excuse me, my lord, if I didn’t think to pack before I left home.”
“Summerwell has been told to bring everything—”
“Everything! I might have known that you meant lock, stock, and camisole when you confiscated my belongings. Am I to rent back my drawers from the Home Office?”
He kept his smile inside his cheek, imagining that item on the Privy Council agenda: “One pair of fancy drawers, leased to one Hollie Finch, wife of Adam MacGillnock, otherwise known as Captain Spindleshanks.”
Lord. He hadn’t the slightest idea how he would explain her to the Home Office.
“That won’t be necessary, madam. I’ll see that you have clothes in the morning.”
“And a hot bath?”
“And breakfast on a tray.”
Success seemed to stymie her, for she frownedand cast him a wary look. “Then good night, my lord.”
She glanced back at him over her shoulder as she swept through the doorway in a swirl of nightgown-clad curves and bare ankles.
She was the best kind of witness he could have imagined. Witness and temptation all rolled into one fiery-hearted champion.
If Captain Spindleshanks was any kind of a man, any kind of a husband, he couldn’t possibly leave a wife like Hollie Finch for long without coming to her rescue. He would place watchers near the gatehouse and in the road.
It prickled his ethics some, but extraordinary measures were sometimes required to entrap an extraordinary criminal.
So he would bait his trap with the scoundrel’s magnificent wife and lie in wait for the blackguard.
Chapter 7
H ollie awoke midmorning, buried to her eyebrows in a marvelously soft comforter, having spent the entire night dreaming of the man in the next room, dreaming of spying on him. Oh, what an astounding part of her dream that had been. And plotting against him, printing riddles on her Stanhope to confuse him, and whispering rhymes to charm him, and every word of it seditious and marvelously stirring.
She needed to find a way to continue her campaign against him in secret, to be close at his elbow when he sorted through the evidence he’d stolen from her shop. But she was fresh out of plans and not yet ready to face the man or to even open her eyes.
Yet she had the oddest feeling that she was being studied at close range. She peeked out from under her lashes, expecting a lounging cat or her frowning magistrate or Mumberton with her morning tea.
But it was the boy, Charles, kneeling on the upholstered bench at the foot of her bed, peering at her over the top of her counterpane like an elf in a woodland grove.
She couldn’t help a smile. “Good morning, Chip.”
His darkly lashed eyes popped wide in wonder. “You know my name?”
“Chip, for Charles, isn’t it?”
“Yup.”
“Mine is Hollie, for Holliway.”
“Hollie? Like a Christmas greening.” His smile was huge and lacked a few teeth.
“The very thing.”
“I saw a deer out my window. He had pointy horns and he was eating the rose bush. Mumberton chased him.”
Hollie laughed and sat up against the dense bank of pillows. “I’d like to have seen that. Where is Mumberton now? Have you escaped him again?”
Chip’s ears pricked up, and he pointed to the doorway just as Mumberton came round the corner, loaded down with a hip bath, followed by what must have been the entire kitchen staff. They carried steaming water to fill the tub, thicktowels, and a heaping breakfast tray.
“What’s all that stuff for, Mr. Mumberton?” Chip plunked himself down on the bench, a little prince overseeing everything.
The man’s shoulders sagged. “Ah, lad, you’re supposed to be eating your breakfast in the kitchen. How the devil did you get in
“Then good.” He was now the keeper of Captain Spindleshanks’s wife. No doubt a better keeper than the man she had married.
Which gave him no peace at all.
“What about my clothes?” She got bristly and aimed her clipped tones at him. “You’ll excuse me, my lord, if I didn’t think to pack before I left home.”
“Summerwell has been told to bring everything—”
“Everything! I might have known that you meant lock, stock, and camisole when you confiscated my belongings. Am I to rent back my drawers from the Home Office?”
He kept his smile inside his cheek, imagining that item on the Privy Council agenda: “One pair of fancy drawers, leased to one Hollie Finch, wife of Adam MacGillnock, otherwise known as Captain Spindleshanks.”
Lord. He hadn’t the slightest idea how he would explain her to the Home Office.
“That won’t be necessary, madam. I’ll see that you have clothes in the morning.”
“And a hot bath?”
“And breakfast on a tray.”
Success seemed to stymie her, for she frownedand cast him a wary look. “Then good night, my lord.”
She glanced back at him over her shoulder as she swept through the doorway in a swirl of nightgown-clad curves and bare ankles.
She was the best kind of witness he could have imagined. Witness and temptation all rolled into one fiery-hearted champion.
If Captain Spindleshanks was any kind of a man, any kind of a husband, he couldn’t possibly leave a wife like Hollie Finch for long without coming to her rescue. He would place watchers near the gatehouse and in the road.
It prickled his ethics some, but extraordinary measures were sometimes required to entrap an extraordinary criminal.
So he would bait his trap with the scoundrel’s magnificent wife and lie in wait for the blackguard.
Chapter 7
H ollie awoke midmorning, buried to her eyebrows in a marvelously soft comforter, having spent the entire night dreaming of the man in the next room, dreaming of spying on him. Oh, what an astounding part of her dream that had been. And plotting against him, printing riddles on her Stanhope to confuse him, and whispering rhymes to charm him, and every word of it seditious and marvelously stirring.
She needed to find a way to continue her campaign against him in secret, to be close at his elbow when he sorted through the evidence he’d stolen from her shop. But she was fresh out of plans and not yet ready to face the man or to even open her eyes.
Yet she had the oddest feeling that she was being studied at close range. She peeked out from under her lashes, expecting a lounging cat or her frowning magistrate or Mumberton with her morning tea.
But it was the boy, Charles, kneeling on the upholstered bench at the foot of her bed, peering at her over the top of her counterpane like an elf in a woodland grove.
She couldn’t help a smile. “Good morning, Chip.”
His darkly lashed eyes popped wide in wonder. “You know my name?”
“Chip, for Charles, isn’t it?”
“Yup.”
“Mine is Hollie, for Holliway.”
“Hollie? Like a Christmas greening.” His smile was huge and lacked a few teeth.
“The very thing.”
“I saw a deer out my window. He had pointy horns and he was eating the rose bush. Mumberton chased him.”
Hollie laughed and sat up against the dense bank of pillows. “I’d like to have seen that. Where is Mumberton now? Have you escaped him again?”
Chip’s ears pricked up, and he pointed to the doorway just as Mumberton came round the corner, loaded down with a hip bath, followed by what must have been the entire kitchen staff. They carried steaming water to fill the tub, thicktowels, and a heaping breakfast tray.
“What’s all that stuff for, Mr. Mumberton?” Chip plunked himself down on the bench, a little prince overseeing everything.
The man’s shoulders sagged. “Ah, lad, you’re supposed to be eating your breakfast in the kitchen. How the devil did you get in
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