Leslie LaFoy Read Online Free Page A

hope of ever freeing themselves from economic bondage. And yet, to a man, they pretended their personal situations were secret. No one spoke openly of the vast debts owed to him or of his to others. As agroup, they gambled their futures on uncertain politics, unstable markets, blind faith, and hopeless, pathetic promises.
    Devon clenched his teeth, vaulted down the stairs, and yanked the reins of his horse from the iron ring. As he mounted, the cold leather of his saddle creaked in protest. To his way of thinking, the sound epitomized the straining of his world. Squaring his shoulders, he wheeled the white gelding about and set off across the square, his mind filled with the likely consequences of the day.
    Speculative discussions of his hasty marriage to Mistress Claire Curran would spread throughout Williamsburg before dusk had descended on the community. Within a week, the news would have been carried as far north as Philadelphia and as far south as Charleston. The situation would be the chief topic of conversation among those of the propertied class for some time to come.
    Devon knew the mental habits of his fellows well. There'd be two avenues of discourse regarding his marriage to the niece of a London trader. Some would contend that his financial situation was tenuous in the extreme—that he'd wed to forestall a legal suit against Rosewind. Others would argue that the sudden marriage exhibited his business acumen—that through the exchange of vows he'd acquired a most enviable line of credit.
    A sardonic smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he considered the shortsightedness of his brother's fears. Within a fortnight the two separate lines of public speculation would meld into one. He'd be regarded as a quick and daring businessman, a virtual paragon of colonial ingenuity and spirit who had turned a truly desperate situation to his advantage.
    It didn't matter whether the assumptions were true or false. It mattered only that the perception existed.
    The continuation of the Tidewater aristocracy rested on just such illusions … and on the unspoken understanding that to challenge one man's facade would bring the world down about every man's ears.
    Yes, he knew the intricate rules that governed his existence, and he knew the consequences of failure. An image of auctioning away Rosewind formed in his mind. With a low growl he banished the dark vision. The pitiably dressed, fiery-tempered Mistress Curran was, without doubt, the last woman he'd have chosen to marry if he had free say in the matter, but prudence clearly demanded he accept the situation with as much public grace as possible. He'd vowed to save his estate and secure his future. If Claire Curran was an expedient means to that end, then so be it. And heaven help her if she, or her conniving uncle, tried to stand in his way.



C HAPTER T HREE

OMEWHERE A BELL SOUNDED the eleventh hour of the morning. Claire sat on the chair in Edmund Cantrell's office listening to the long, full notes and feeling the world close around her. How had matters gone so awry? And why now? She'd borne her uncle's correspondence and conducted his business negotiations countless times over the past four years. This time had seemed no different. She'd had no inkling, no warning that he was about to banish her to the deepest, darkest corner of the world. Had she missed some clue that should have served as a warning?
    Hoping the young attorney wouldn't notice her trembling hand, she raised the glass of brandy to her lips and took a careful taste of the dark fluid. The memory of Devon Rivard's mocking eyes played on her mind; the soft, cutting timbre of his words still rang in her ears. Her blood raced icy through her veins, driven by the frantic pounding of her heart.
    “There. Now isn't that better?” Edmund Cantrell asked, a kind smile dimpling his cheeks.
    No. Nothing's better at all
, she wanted to sob. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the carpet and managed a weak nod as the