Dark Before the Rising Sun by Laurie McBain Page A

kisses with a growing passion of her own. It was always this way, she thought drowsily as she felt his fingers moving with purpose against the laces of her bodice. She could deny him nothing. She could think of none but him when he looked at her, touched her, made love to her. The rest of the world ceased to exist when they were together.
    Unfortunately, however, the rest of the world still had business to take care of, and a persistent, not-to-be ignored knocking finally intruded into Rhea’s consciousness. Reluctantly, she freed her lips from Dante’s possessive kiss.
    â€œThere is someone at the door,” she tried to tell him, but the words were little better than a breathless whisper.
    â€œThe damned fool can bide his time,” Dante replied, unwilling to stir himself for some misadvised oaf demanding entrance, not when he could bury his face in the fragrant, golden tresses he had loosened to fall free about Rhea’s pale shoulders.
    â€œDante, please,” Rhea pleaded. She felt his mouth moving along the curve of breast revealed by her parted bodice. The knocking was becoming impatient.
    â€œEither the bastard’s crazed, or he has an army at his back, for few men would dare disturb my privacy. One of the few advantages of being thought the devil incarnate, my sweet,” Dante muttered as the knocking continued and a noisy shuffling could be heard beyond the solid oak of the door.
    â€œI do believe ’tis an army. I suppose there’s nothing for it but to face the enemy.” Dante sighed as he allowed Rhea to slide off his lap. He was far from being in good humor as he watched her cross the room and, her back to the door, straighten her bodice.
    â€œEnter at your own risk! Pistols primed!” he called out, sounding more like the captain of the Sea Dragon than a gentleman of leisure.
    Rhea spun round in surprise, expecting to see Dante standing with a pistol in each hand. But he was still sitting where she had left him. A wicked grin was widening his mouth as he stared at the door.
    â€œI daresay the worst of your reputation has now been confirmed, and by your very own lips,” Rhea commented dryly while adjusting the delicate fall of lace adorning the sleeves of her muslin gown. “Half of the maids in the inn are scared witless whenever they happen to cross your path. I truly believe that you enjoy causing an uproar,” she accused him, but the smile curving her lips took the sting from her words.
    â€œDo I really?” Dante asked, sounding genuinely surprised to hear such an accusation, but he was even more surprised by the sudden silence beyond the door.
    â€œWell? Enter, or be damned!” he called out, ignoring Rhea’s expression of feigned exasperation.
    â€œLord, ’elp us!” whispered one of the chambermaids cowering just outside the door.
    â€œWhat’d Oi tell ye? A bloodthirsty pirate ’e is. Sailed from the Indies on the devil’s own ship, ’e did. ’Eard tell, even, that one of them treasure chests full o’ gold was filled with the bleached bones of pirates. Devil’s treasure, ’tis,” her companion declared.
    â€œNo tellin’ what a gent like ’im might do, then?” the first maid questioned timidly, feeling a weakness in her knees at the thought uppermost in her mind.
    â€œAye, and ’tis somethin’ a supposedly decent miss like yerself shouldn’t even be knowin’ about, much less thinkin’ about,” the elder of the two girls responded knowingly.
    â€œOoooh, but ’e is an ’andsome devil, though,” the younger girl stated, unmindful of her more experienced friend’s advice while she momentarily forgot, or perhaps dreamed, about Dante Leighton and his adventurer’s less-than-respectable reputation.
    â€œWell, ye don’t ’ave t’be worryin’ none.”
    â€œYe think not? Don’t reckon ’e’ll be