The Devil in Her Bed (Devil You Know #3) - Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,50
I’ve seen those who give up their purity for the sake of greed or spite or pure malevolence. I am ashamed of nothing, and those who think I should be can go hang. You included.”
She turned to the nightstand and finished her scotch in one gulp before turning back to find him in much the same posture as before. “I’m no longer a child who must be protected,” she said, her decisions remade and her courage reconstituted. “I am a woman in search of answers. A professional liar, same as you. I’ve trained for this my entire life. Allowed myself to want for nothing else but truth and justice for those who are dead, and I’ll get that with or without your help.” She gathered her skirts and made to sweep past him. “I suppose we’ll just have to stay out of each other’s way.”
“Francesca, wait—” He reached for her arm, but she jerked away, backing toward the door as she added an addendum to her rant.
“I imagine you’re not paragon of chastity,” she spat. “My purity and my virginity are not one and the same. It doesn’t matter how many men I’ve had, I am fucking pure as the driven snow, and no one will make me feel otherwise.”
She turned her back to him, putting both her hands in the pockets of her gown to keep her fists from flying in a rage.
“Francesca.” He stormed after her.
“Don’t follow me,” she snapped.
“I’m not letting you leave until you hear—”
“Hear this.” She extracted her hand from her pocket, turned, and pulled the trigger of her pistol right next to his ear. To add injury to insult, she stowed the weapon and performed some kind of two-handed punch to his solar plexus, stealing his breath as well as his hearing.
By the time the ringing cleared and he was able to fill his lungs, she was long gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Francesca did her best not to scowl as Alexandra’s arrow hit closer to the mark than her own. Either the Duchess of Redmayne had been practicing in her spare time, or Francesca was losing her edge.
Probably both.
The Red Rogues had taken a short holiday away from the city, boarding the train out of London to Dorset, where Castle Redmayne hulked like an ancient sentinel above Maynemouth, a lovely fishing village turned tourist destination on the Devonshire coast. The women stood in the southern sunshine at the ruins of an old fort above Torcliff, one that had been built by Redmayne’s ancestors after their victory at the side of William the Conqueror.
They’d set up an archery range in the abandoned courtyard to take full advantage of the last of the decent weather before summer gave way to autumn, as it threatened to do.
The stone walls of the fort protected them from ocean breezes as they practiced their archery. The gallop from the castle to the fort over the lush, verdant grasses of Maynemouth Moor had invigorated Francesca, but still had done little to lift her spirits.
She hadn’t seen Declan Chandler for days, and it was starting to get to her.
She pulled the veil of her riding hat down further against the high sun, hoping those clouds in the distance would be blown this way so she could stop bloody squinting. The call and reply of seabirds was more of an assault on her senses than a boon, and she couldn’t seem to conjure anything but resentment for the rich scents of briny sea air, loamy grass, and horses.
Some of her favorite things.
It’s not that she expected the world to match the grey of her mood, but she certainly wished it would. The uncommonly good weather and the general happiness of her loved ones were things she ardently desired, and couldn’t bring herself to even pretend to enjoy.
She occupied a world where Declan Chandler was alive … and rather than a joy, it was a maze she couldn’t see through. A wall of obstacles built by evil men, forces beyond her control …
And her own deceit.
“I worry about your plans to attend this function thrown by Lord Kenway, Frank,” Cecelia said from where she grappled an arrow from her quiver in the corner and did her best to nock it with clumsy fingers. A brilliant, graceful woman was she, until competition was involved. Then she lost all sense and didn’t have the coordination God gave a lump of clay. Finally, Cecelia gave up and lifted her gaze to Francesca’s. Her high color set off the sapphire blue