Lord Deverill's Heir by Catherine Coulter (books to read for 13 year olds .txt) 📕

out away from the balcony, dangling for a moment in the air before her feet connected with a knobby outgrowth on its trunk. She felt the branch groan under her weight. She paid it no heed, easing her hands along the branch until, without too much risk, she was able to drop to a lower branch. Her skirts tangled about her legs and she nearly lost her balance. She flailed the air, then managed to catch herself. Damnation, if only God had meted out justice to females, she would be wearing britches.

She looked down at the smooth grass below, took a deep breath, and kicked free of the tree. She fell lightly on her feet, then set off at a run toward the stables, clutching her bothersome skirts high above her ankles. She heard from a distance, from the other side of the hall, the loud laughter of the servants who had accompanied their masters and mistresses. Suddenly she heard the steady pounding of horse’s hooves.

She quickly lowered herself to her knees behind a yew bush and waited.

But a moment later, horse and rider passed her, and she saw Gervaise’s pale face in the moonlight.

She forced herself not to move, counting down long seconds, until he was out of her sight. She jumped to her feet and ran to the stables. When she drew up, winded, at the lighted stable door, she found herself facing a bewildered groom, who seemed unable to do anything but stare openmouthed at her.

“Ah, er, milady?”

Arabella drew two more panting breaths, took in the patent uncertainty on the groom’s face, and said with all the arrogant haughtiness of her sire,

“What is your name?”

“Allen, milady.”

“Quickly, Allen, I want you to saddle Miss Talgarth’s mare, Bluebell, this very instant.” The groom faltered. Arabella said, still more haughty, “Do as I tell you or Lord Talgarth will see to you.” That did it. Allen moved probably more quickly than he had in many a long day.

She grinned at his back. She wanted to ask him if the earl had already come and gone, but she guessed the groom wouldn’t tell her the truth. She had to admit that Justin could terrify a servant more effectively than she probably could.

Arabella eyed the gentle Bluebell, and wished she had Lucifer. Well, there was no hope for it. She ignored the groom, after he’d given her a foot up, and dug her heels into Bluebell’s fat sides.

Her elegant hairstyle became tangles of flying hair even before Bluebell gained the main road. She pressed the mare to a steady gallop, promising her a large pail of oats when they reached Evesham Abbey. Yes, she thought, without a doubt Gervaise was riding to Evesham Abbey. It was about the only thing she was certain of at the moment.

She knew that what she was doing was perfectly outrageous. She also knew that Justin would be furious. So be it. She was very much a part of all this and it was only fair that she see it to the end. She really had no clear idea at the moment of what she was going to do after she found out what he was up to. She wanted to kill him. Yes, that was what she would do. That would save Elsbeth from ever learning the truth. She lowered her head and kept her eyes steady on the road in front of her. The wind was cold against her face.

As she turned Bluebell onto the graveled drive in front of Evesham Abbey, Arabella was not at all surprised to see Gervaise’s horse tethered to a bush just to the side of the front steps. He must have taken his horse to Talgarth Hall earlier in the day and hidden it. She reined in the panting Bluebell and slid from the saddle. Everything was eerily quiet. Only a few candles were shining from the first-floor windows. There was but one light glowing from the second floor—it was from the earl’s bedchamber.

She raced up the front steps and pushed the great doors open. The entrance hall was empty. She frowned. Where were the servants?

She thought of her small pistol, safely placed in the night table beside her bed. Well, it was simply impossible to think of fetching it, with Gervaise either in or near the earl’s bedchamber. She ran silently through the entrance hall, past the Velvet Room, and quietly slipped into the library. Her father’s favorite brace of pistols lay in their velvet case atop the mantelpiece. She gingerly grasped the butt of one of the pistols and drew it down. She felt again tingly with excitement as she probed the barrel with the loading rod. Finally the pistol was loaded and primed.

Slowly she mounted the staircase, the gun tucked in the folds of her skirt. It was Gervaise who had chosen the time and place where she would confront him. She wondered if she were not trying to prove something to Justin. Probably so. She devoutly prayed that Justin was close by. He had to be. He’d been watching Gervaise as closely as she had.

The door to the earl’s bedchamber stood slightly ajar. She saw the flicker of a single candle weave itself into bizarre shapes and dancing patterns on the opposite wall. Slowly she pressed against the door.

The earl’s eyes swept the crowded room as they had at regular short intervals throughout the evening. He soon spotted Lucinda Rutherford, standing quite alone, looking for the world like a homely friendless little pug. “Damn,” he said under his breath. But a short time ago—just moments ago, it seemed—he had seen Gervaise leading Miss Rutherford into a quadrille. Satisfied, he had left the large ballroom with Lord Talgarth leaning heavily on his arm to help his gouty lordship into his library.

“Thank you, lad. I’ve had quite enough of this nonsense.” He had been gone but a moment. He looked down distractedly into Miss Talgarth’s upturned face. Where had she come from? “Do forgive me,