her and she
held onto Jared for dear life. "Oh, dear, why is everything moving?"
"Yes, Miss Somerset, I'd say it's well past your
bedtime."
Lindsay gasped as she felt herself being lifted in the
air, a fresh burst of giggles overwhelming her. "Oh, Jared, let's waltz,
shall we? Just like last night—it was so wonderful, like a dream—whoops!"
The world had suddenly become topsy-turvy. Lindsay was
aware in a foggy corner of her mind that she had been thrown over Jared's
shoulder, but she couldn't see a thing, her ample hood covering her face. Hiccuping in between giggles, she began to swing her
dangling arms in time with the ribald song resonating around her, doing her
best to sing along with the lively tune:
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
Early in the morning?
Shave him on the belly with a rusty razor,
Shave him on the belly with a rusty razor,
Shave him on the belly with a rusty razor,
Early in the morning!
She even went so far as to drum upon something lean and
hard until a gentleman's voice startled her.
"I say, man, will you look at that? There's a
fellow due for some spirited sport tonight, the lucky bastard."
"Oh, yes, the lucky bastard!" she roared,
sputtering at the blond hair in her mouth. In the next moment she was jounced
so soundly that she lost her breath, Jared's shoulder digging into her stomach.
" Dammit , woman, be
still!"
" Shhh , Lindsay, he says
be still," she admonished herself, inhaling deeply of the clear, cool air
seeping under her hood.
It had grown very dark, too, the boisterous singing
becoming dim, other sounds cutting through the blurry cobwebs cluttering her
mind. The sharp clip-clop of hooves, the clatter of carriage wheels, Jared's
deep voice calling out for a coach to be brought 'round. Then she felt herself
being dumped gently onto something soft and velvet, Lindsay grinning as a
strong hiccup rocked her.
"You better . . . order more ale for me, Jared. I
can't . . . stop."
"So I see," Jared muttered, wondering how he
was ever going to get Lindsay tucked into her bed without her waking the entire
household.
It appeared his idea to get her soused had worked too
well; he could imagine the wretched headache she would suffer come morning. But
if that would keep the reckless chit from venturing out again late at night,
then it had been worth it, and he hoped she would be so sick, she wouldn't wish
to see him again, either. Not when she realized he had lied to her, encouraging her to drink to quiet her hiccups, no less.
Jared drew Lindsay under his arm as the coach jolted
around a corner, a pang of regret hitting him as she snuggled blearily against
him, her cheek pressed against his overcoat, her breath smelling like a drunken sailor's . But he suppressed the rare feeling and drew
back her hood, that stifling black hood which she had endured without complaint
and which had so completely hidden the exquisite riot of blond hair that
spilled out over his lap.
He fingered a silken strand, the unusual shade a
striking mix of platinum and spun silver. He hadn't realized how long it was
until tonight, down to her waist; she had worn it wound in a fashionable
chignon last evening. She had looked so lovely, as brilliant as a sunny day in
her yellow gown, her magnificent hair coiled by a creamy strand of seed pearls.
But he much preferred it streaming loose around her as it was now—
Jared cursed. "Blast it, man, what the hell does
it matter if the stuff is loose or the wench is bald?" he bit out, turning
to stare through the window.
"Jared? Did you say something?"
Her voice was as silky-soft as her hair; nonetheless,
he steeled himself against its bewitching effect and ignored her. Yet that did
not prevent him from recalling how smooth her skin had been beneath his fingers
when he'd unfastened her cloak, his hand grazing the tender ripeness of her
breasts, her heart beating crazily
held onto Jared for dear life. "Oh, dear, why is everything moving?"
"Yes, Miss Somerset, I'd say it's well past your
bedtime."
Lindsay gasped as she felt herself being lifted in the
air, a fresh burst of giggles overwhelming her. "Oh, Jared, let's waltz,
shall we? Just like last night—it was so wonderful, like a dream—whoops!"
The world had suddenly become topsy-turvy. Lindsay was
aware in a foggy corner of her mind that she had been thrown over Jared's
shoulder, but she couldn't see a thing, her ample hood covering her face. Hiccuping in between giggles, she began to swing her
dangling arms in time with the ribald song resonating around her, doing her
best to sing along with the lively tune:
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
Early in the morning?
Shave him on the belly with a rusty razor,
Shave him on the belly with a rusty razor,
Shave him on the belly with a rusty razor,
Early in the morning!
She even went so far as to drum upon something lean and
hard until a gentleman's voice startled her.
"I say, man, will you look at that? There's a
fellow due for some spirited sport tonight, the lucky bastard."
"Oh, yes, the lucky bastard!" she roared,
sputtering at the blond hair in her mouth. In the next moment she was jounced
so soundly that she lost her breath, Jared's shoulder digging into her stomach.
" Dammit , woman, be
still!"
" Shhh , Lindsay, he says
be still," she admonished herself, inhaling deeply of the clear, cool air
seeping under her hood.
It had grown very dark, too, the boisterous singing
becoming dim, other sounds cutting through the blurry cobwebs cluttering her
mind. The sharp clip-clop of hooves, the clatter of carriage wheels, Jared's
deep voice calling out for a coach to be brought 'round. Then she felt herself
being dumped gently onto something soft and velvet, Lindsay grinning as a
strong hiccup rocked her.
"You better . . . order more ale for me, Jared. I
can't . . . stop."
"So I see," Jared muttered, wondering how he
was ever going to get Lindsay tucked into her bed without her waking the entire
household.
It appeared his idea to get her soused had worked too
well; he could imagine the wretched headache she would suffer come morning. But
if that would keep the reckless chit from venturing out again late at night,
then it had been worth it, and he hoped she would be so sick, she wouldn't wish
to see him again, either. Not when she realized he had lied to her, encouraging her to drink to quiet her hiccups, no less.
Jared drew Lindsay under his arm as the coach jolted
around a corner, a pang of regret hitting him as she snuggled blearily against
him, her cheek pressed against his overcoat, her breath smelling like a drunken sailor's . But he suppressed the rare feeling and drew
back her hood, that stifling black hood which she had endured without complaint
and which had so completely hidden the exquisite riot of blond hair that
spilled out over his lap.
He fingered a silken strand, the unusual shade a
striking mix of platinum and spun silver. He hadn't realized how long it was
until tonight, down to her waist; she had worn it wound in a fashionable
chignon last evening. She had looked so lovely, as brilliant as a sunny day in
her yellow gown, her magnificent hair coiled by a creamy strand of seed pearls.
But he much preferred it streaming loose around her as it was now—
Jared cursed. "Blast it, man, what the hell does
it matter if the stuff is loose or the wench is bald?" he bit out, turning
to stare through the window.
"Jared? Did you say something?"
Her voice was as silky-soft as her hair; nonetheless,
he steeled himself against its bewitching effect and ignored her. Yet that did
not prevent him from recalling how smooth her skin had been beneath his fingers
when he'd unfastened her cloak, his hand grazing the tender ripeness of her
breasts, her heart beating crazily
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