caught a woman’s interest. Gypsy or lady, what women
could resist the lure of respect. That trick always worked far
better than any diamonds.
He pushed the package towards her again. “It
is getting rather heavy for me to continue holding it out in this
conciliatory fashion.”
She stared at him a moment longer, as if she
half expected him to jump upon her. An enticing image, but he had
far more interesting plans for her.
Gingerly, she took the package. She was
careful not to touch his hand, he noted. An excellent sign, for it
meant that his touch could affect her in ways she must guard
against. Oh, he was going to enjoy teasing her out from behind her
wise caution.
As she untied the twine, she bit her lower
lip, and the gesture shot a jolt of lust through him, just as it
had the last time he had seen her do that.
His skin warmed, and he thought with delight
that for her he would toss any number of fine hats into the
woods.
The twine fell loose, the paper parted, and
she gazed down at the neatly folded silk chemise, the new corset he
had purchased for her, and on top of them the mate to his own
silver filigree pocket pistol.
“I thought that if you planned to continue
your career as an adventuress, you might wish do so properly
equipped. The pistol is not loaded—I am also clever enough not to
tempt you, you see. But I will show you how to care for it later,
if you wish.”
With one hand supporting the package, she
reached up to slide her fingers over the pistol and over the silk,
her touch reverent as if she had never seen such things.
St. Albans stepped closer with the intent of
explaining a few features of the pistol, and of also placing
himself in a better position to accept her gratitude. His focus
centered on her. On how she had drawn in a deep breath that swelled
her chest. On how her eyes darkened with delight. On the hint of a
smile now curving her lips. He took a certain satisfaction in being
able to read a lady so well, and he knew this one to be pleased.
And a little confused by her own feelings.
It would take only a little encouragement now
to assist her in resolving those feelings into something mutually
delightful.
He started to lean closer to her and
something sharp pricked the middle of his back, stopping him more
effectively than the low voice that growled, “Another step and you
die, gaujo !”
Anger blazed for an instant inside him. His
muscles tightened. No one threatened the Earl of St. Albans. And he
had had about enough interruptions of his Gypsy’s seduction. If he
had another coat ruined over this girl, someone would pay dearly
for it.
He forced his body to relax into deceptive
ease, and his temper to cool, and he began to shift his weight so
he could kick back and snag the other man’s feet out from under
him. He wanted his hands around this imbecile’s throat.
A soft touch on his arm stopped him.
Glancing down, intent tangling with anger at
the sight of his Gypsy’s face turned up to his and silently begging
him to be still. Oh, blazes, but she was an inconvenience just now.
He did not want to be distracted, yet here she was, making it
difficult for him to even think, let alone act.
He still ached to throttle the dolt who had
dared threaten him, but it seemed that his Gypsy had other
plans.
Glancing over his shoulder towards, she spoke
rapidly in that odd language of her kind to the man with the knife.
And it occurred to St. Albans that she was actually defending
him.
He stared at her, astonished. No one shielded
the Earl of St. Albans. Or at least no one had ever thought such a
thing might be necessary. Not even among the all-too-numerous
uncles and aunts who had raised him could he conjure such a memory.
Oh, they had leapt readily enough to his command. He had learned
early, after all, just how much power an earl wielded. But defend
him? That was absurd.
However, here she was hotly arguing with one
of her kind on his behalf.
For a moment, he wondered if he ought to
could resist the lure of respect. That trick always worked far
better than any diamonds.
He pushed the package towards her again. “It
is getting rather heavy for me to continue holding it out in this
conciliatory fashion.”
She stared at him a moment longer, as if she
half expected him to jump upon her. An enticing image, but he had
far more interesting plans for her.
Gingerly, she took the package. She was
careful not to touch his hand, he noted. An excellent sign, for it
meant that his touch could affect her in ways she must guard
against. Oh, he was going to enjoy teasing her out from behind her
wise caution.
As she untied the twine, she bit her lower
lip, and the gesture shot a jolt of lust through him, just as it
had the last time he had seen her do that.
His skin warmed, and he thought with delight
that for her he would toss any number of fine hats into the
woods.
The twine fell loose, the paper parted, and
she gazed down at the neatly folded silk chemise, the new corset he
had purchased for her, and on top of them the mate to his own
silver filigree pocket pistol.
“I thought that if you planned to continue
your career as an adventuress, you might wish do so properly
equipped. The pistol is not loaded—I am also clever enough not to
tempt you, you see. But I will show you how to care for it later,
if you wish.”
With one hand supporting the package, she
reached up to slide her fingers over the pistol and over the silk,
her touch reverent as if she had never seen such things.
St. Albans stepped closer with the intent of
explaining a few features of the pistol, and of also placing
himself in a better position to accept her gratitude. His focus
centered on her. On how she had drawn in a deep breath that swelled
her chest. On how her eyes darkened with delight. On the hint of a
smile now curving her lips. He took a certain satisfaction in being
able to read a lady so well, and he knew this one to be pleased.
And a little confused by her own feelings.
It would take only a little encouragement now
to assist her in resolving those feelings into something mutually
delightful.
He started to lean closer to her and
something sharp pricked the middle of his back, stopping him more
effectively than the low voice that growled, “Another step and you
die, gaujo !”
Anger blazed for an instant inside him. His
muscles tightened. No one threatened the Earl of St. Albans. And he
had had about enough interruptions of his Gypsy’s seduction. If he
had another coat ruined over this girl, someone would pay dearly
for it.
He forced his body to relax into deceptive
ease, and his temper to cool, and he began to shift his weight so
he could kick back and snag the other man’s feet out from under
him. He wanted his hands around this imbecile’s throat.
A soft touch on his arm stopped him.
Glancing down, intent tangling with anger at
the sight of his Gypsy’s face turned up to his and silently begging
him to be still. Oh, blazes, but she was an inconvenience just now.
He did not want to be distracted, yet here she was, making it
difficult for him to even think, let alone act.
He still ached to throttle the dolt who had
dared threaten him, but it seemed that his Gypsy had other
plans.
Glancing over his shoulder towards, she spoke
rapidly in that odd language of her kind to the man with the knife.
And it occurred to St. Albans that she was actually defending
him.
He stared at her, astonished. No one shielded
the Earl of St. Albans. Or at least no one had ever thought such a
thing might be necessary. Not even among the all-too-numerous
uncles and aunts who had raised him could he conjure such a memory.
Oh, they had leapt readily enough to his command. He had learned
early, after all, just how much power an earl wielded. But defend
him? That was absurd.
However, here she was hotly arguing with one
of her kind on his behalf.
For a moment, he wondered if he ought to
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