Leslie LaFoy Read Online Free Page B

liquid seared a path down her throat.
    Leaning back against his desk and folding his arms across his chest, the young man continued, “I've always maintained that there's nothing quite like a good brandy to put one's concerns into their right perspective. I know it's hardly proper for a lady to take strong spirits, but I believe that under the present circumstances, propriety might be temporarily set aside.”
    “You're most kind,” Claire heard herself reply.
    “It's the least I can do, considering it was my poor judgment which placed you in such unfortunate circumstances. I'm sorry, Mistress Curran. Please believe that. If there's anything I might do…”
    “If you'll draft a letter of credit against my uncle's accounts sufficient to pay for my return to London, I'd be most appreciative,” she answered, her gaze still fixed on the carpet. “I'd like to leave Williamsburg as soon as possible.”
    A long silence filled the room. She looked up to find the young man standing with his hands thrust deep in his coat pockets and wearing an expression that appeared to be a mixture of disgust and despondency.
    “I truly wish I could honor your request,” he finally said. “But your uncle didn't authorize any drafts on his accounts in your behalf. I can't do so without his written consent. Had I the resources, I'd gladly pay for your fare myself.”
    Claire moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and swallowed past the growing lump in her throat. Despite her resolution otherwise, her voice was an incredulous whisper as she asked, “Are you saying that my uncle never intended for me to return to London?”
    With a long sigh, Edmund Cantrell nodded. “I'm afraid that I must admit that, as usual, Devon was correct in his assessment. Your uncle knew the bargain would be accepted and that there'd be no need to arrange for your transportation back to England. I'm so very sorry.”
    A shiver ran up the length of her spine as her stomach knotted hard and cold. Memories of Crossbridge Manor assailed her. It took every measure of her dignity to calmly say, “Surely, under such extreme circumstances, allowances could be made.”
    He shook his head and stared down at his feet. “Were your uncle's reputation other than it is, I'd encourage your hopes, but unfortunately…” He looked up to meet her gaze. “I believe the situation warrants bluntness, Mistress Curran. Among Tidewater gentlemen it's often said that George Seaton-Smythe would sell his mother for the right price. While that statement's an obvious exaggeration, it's woefully apparent that he is willing to sell his niece.”
    “Only because his mother's dead,” Claire muttered, lifting the glass of brandy to her lips. The rich liquor slipped easily down her throat but did nothing to loosen the frigid fingers that gripped her heart and soul. She sat on the edge of the chair, stunned by the gravity of her circumstances, her thoughts careening through the dark memories of the recent past and then vaulting ahead to a future whose shadows loomed as heavy and sad as those behind her.
    She considered both for a long moment. Her past had been written by others, and she'd dutifully played the roles they'd assigned her because she'd had no other choice. And the future… A quiet inner voice offered another, reckless course. Claire nodded to herself and instantly felt the coldness of her dread begin to ease. The future belonged to her and to no one else. She'd make of it what she would. She'd defy her uncle's efforts to foreverconsign her to the end of the world, to shackle her to an insolent and resentful stranger.
    Claire rose to her feet and extended the brandy glass toward the attorney. “My father was always quick to remind me that only mortal fools resist the will of the Lord. Perhaps Papa was correct,” she observed with a faint smile. “Since there appears to be little hope of altering the tide of events, I'd best be getting about the acceptance of