My Beautiful Enemy Read Online Free

turban, she was quite all right, Marland Atwood turned to Catherine. “But to single-handedly fight off a villain, Miss Blade, how did you manage it?”
    For once, Catherine was happy that Mrs. Chase, even if she had seen something beyond her own misery, would not come forth with details of Catherine’s strength and dexterity. “I had the advantage of surprise on my side, a great deal of luck, and the experience of taking a pot to a miscreant’s head once in a while.”
    Marland Atwood laughed. “My goodness, Miss Blade. Do remind me to remain in your good grace at all cost.”
    Leighton Atwood’s lips curled in a sardonic smile. “Yes, indeed. Do remind us.”
    M arland Atwood leaned forward. “Do you know what? Miss Blade’s bravery made me remember the time Leighton faced down a lethal beast.”
    “What is that?” Miss Chase turned toward her fiancé. “I’ve never heard you mention any such deed.”
    “You never told her?!” Marland Atwood exclaimed in disbelief. He grinned at his brother. “You must have become quite a catch if Miss Chase accepted you without ever hearing that stirring tale.”
    “Well?” Miss Chase prompted, eager admiration in her eyes. “Won’t you tell us, Leighton?”
    “There isn’t much to tell. A boy got too close to a tiger and I pulled him back.”
    Marland Atwood shook his head. “And if you listen to him, you’d have thought that our men in India daily ran in front of full-grown tigers. Allow me to tell it better. Sir Randolph Clive was a nabob who lived like a maharaja. He kept elephants and pet tigers. And one day, in the middle of a garden party, one of the tigers got loose.”
    “My goodness gracious,” said Miss Chase.
    Leighton Atwood turned the base of his water goblet a few degrees. There was no expression of modesty on his face, only detachment, as if he himself played not the least role in the tale.
    He did not like being talked about, it struck Catherine. He did not like being the center of attention.
    “Pandemonium ensued, of course, when the guests realized that a wild beast was in their midst,” Marland Atwood continued. “The panicky ones climbed trees; the more sensible ones made for the house. And in all this commotion, no one realized that Sir Randolph’s toddler son had left the house to pet the tiger, thinking it a big cat. The boy walked until he was no more than two feet away from the tiger.”
    “Oh no,” Miss Chase whispered.
    “The situation was precarious indeed. The tiger growled, a rumble full of menace. The boy stopped—but only for a moment.” Marland Atwood paused dramatically. “Then he began advancing again. Women fainted. Men stood paralyzed. The servants came with Sir Randolph’s rifles. But SirRandolph, that ass—pardon my language, ladies—would not allow anyone to shoot it.”
    “Then what happened?” demanded Miss Chase, her hand on Leighton Atwood’s shoulder.
    “Then Leighton, cool as a cucumber, strolled up to the child, took him by the hand, bid the tiger to ‘Stay where you are,’ and delivered the boy to his eternally grateful mother.”
    “What valor!” gushed Mrs. Chase.
    “Most impressive,” declared Mrs. Reynolds.
    “Most impressive indeed,” Catherine murmured—not that she wasn’t impressed, but of course he would have been the one to take charge when everyone else lost their heads. “And when was this, if I may ask?”
    “Six or seven years ago,” answered Marland Atwood. “But nobody has forgotten it.”
    How strange to think that in the eight years since their parting, Leighton Atwood had not merely survived, but had led a normal life, a life that included such things as attending garden parties, traveling on trains and ocean liners, and finding himself a suitable woman to marry.
    “Ladies,” said Leighton Atwood, “you should know my brother was not present in person.”
    “But I’ve heard it from a dozen eyewitnesses,” Marland Atwood retorted gleefully. “Of course,