Читать книгу Princess of Fortune - Miranda Jarrett - Страница 11

T om walked down the empty street toward the river, wanting no other company than his own. He’d given up trying to sleep any longer in his unfamiliar bed in Lady Willoughby’s guest room, and had set out from the silent house when the skies were still dark, or at least as dark as they ever were in London. Now the first light of dawn was pinking the horizon, and heavy-eyed linkboys were going from light to light, dousing the night’s flames for the coming day.

The early morning was chill, damp with dew that had fallen like a silvery haze over the dark wool of Tom’s uniform coat, and his breath showed before his face. Yet still he walked on, lengthening his stride in the foolish hope that exercise alone would be enough to ease his restlessness.