Rhonda Woodward by Moonlightand Mischief Page B

Charlotte and Lydia, the merry widows, had grown more tedious in their attentions toward him, Miss Thorncroft had caught his notice.
    The mischievous laughter in her eyes had taken him by surprise. The cheek of the girl to look so amused at his predicament! Usually it took only his direct gaze to quell even the sturdiest constitution. But Miss Thorncroft had met his stare without flinching. Quite unexpected.
    Later, when she had interrupted his liaison with Felicity Walgrave, he had done his best to discomfit the chit. Her eyes had sparkled even in the moonlight, despite the fact that he could discern that her sensibilities had been truly shocked by what she had seen.
    He smiled at the memory of their walk through the moonlit garden. It really had been bad of him to tease her, but to her credit, she had given as well as she got.
    Truthfully, he had wanted to hear what she would say next. He would never have guessed that such a sheltered miss would be so quick-witted.
    To his surprise, he had enjoyed their brief conversation, although her comment about his being dangerous had perplexed him. “You are the kind of man who will attempt to steal a lady’s heart for sport,” she had stated boldly. He had been about to dismiss her assessment out of hand, but something in the conviction of her tone had silenced him on the subject.
    Plainly, Miss Thorncroft did not think him quite a gentleman. Frowning, he lifted the snifter. He watched the flames in the grate twist and distort through the glass.
    How absurd. For if Nicholas Edward Charles Morley, fifth Earl of Haverstone, was anything, he was a gentleman.
What an opinionated little minx,
he thought mildly, taking another sip of brandy.
    That comment had not been the last of the evening’s surprises. As he had said good night to her in the open doorway, the glow from a nearby wall sconce had revealed her features. Her startling beauty had suddenly struck him. Odd that, for during dinner he had not thought her more than passing pretty.
    However, Miss Thorncroft’s beauty was not to his usual taste. He’d always been partial to lush blondes, lush brunettes. . . . All right then, he’d always been partial to
lush
, he conceded with a lopsided smile.
    Miss Thorncroft might not be lush, but she certainly was prettier than he had first thought. With sparkling, intelligent eyes, a heart-shaped face, and that elegant figure—well—it was a mystery such loveliness had escaped his notice during dinner.
    Perhaps it was because he rarely bothered conversing with unmarried misses. They usually had nothing of interest to say and often went off in gales of giggles for no apparent reason.
    No giggling from Miss Thorncroft. And no fit of the vapors. She had not even launched into a priggish sermon on morality. She was certainly an unusual young lady.
    Although her shock at finding him with Lady Walgrave had been evident, he admired her attempt to behave with aplomb. For all his teasing, truth be told, he felt a little embarrassed that Miss Thorncroft had caught him in such roguish behavior.
    He would have preferred not to reveal his companion’s identity, he thought, frowning at having done so. Then, shrugging pragmatically, he dismissed the concern. Better to disclose all to the unpredictable Miss Thorncroft than chance her doing something silly—like apologizing to Lady Charlotte for the interruption. He certainly did not need the headache that situation would cause!
    Now here he sat in his library with good old Roger, instead of lying in his bed with Felicity Walgrave.
    “You know, Roger,” he said to his old friend, “tomorrow might turn out to be quite an interesting day.” It rather surprised him to realize that he was looking forward to it.
    ***
    The next morning, wrapped in a heavy robe and nestled in the large window seat carved out of the thick stone wall, Mariah raised her cup of chocolate to her lips and sipped with satisfaction. Outside, a bank of low black clouds rolled