Teresa Medeiros - [FairyTale 02] by The Bride, the Beast Page A

dismay, as the tray he’d been carrying crashed to the floor along with him, spilling a basket of crossbuns and a pitcher of steaming chocolate.
    She scrambled to rescue one of the crossbuns before it rolled under the bed, but could do nothing to stop the rich chocolate from seeping into the floorboards.
    She blew the dust off the bun and sank her teeth into its crust as she surveyed her captive. M’lord Dragon didn’t look quite so fierce lying facedown on the floor in a puddle of chocolate, now, did he? She nudged him with her foot, but he did not stir. She knew she ought to take advantage of his stupor and flee, but her curiosity had always been stronger than her fear. She could not leave this place without seeing the face of the Dragon just once.
    Clutching the sheet to her breast, she knelt down and gave his limp form an ungainly shove. As he rolled onto his back, she retreated, stifling a squeak.
    Her alarm was quickly replaced by another emotion— one it took her a moment to identify.
    Disappointment.
    This? This
was the fierce beast who had terrorizedthe village?
This
was the man whose smoky baritone had sent shivers cascading over her bare skin?
This
was the man whose spice and sandalwood scent had haunted her restless dreams?
    A snore escaped his parted lips, fluttering the sandy hairs of his well-trimmed mustache. The hair on his head was equally pale and already thinning at the crown. Although he wore a tartan plaid draped over one shoulder of his frock coat, his full cheeks were fair and stained with the natural blush of a born and bred Englishman. His generous girth strained the pearl buttons of his double-breasted waistcoat. His nose was rounded, his mouth bland, his face decidedly pleasant.
    Gwendolyn slowly backed away from him, chiding herself for being ridiculous. After all, what had she expected? Some handsome, brooding rogue with a devilish smile and piercing eyes? Some dark prince laboring beneath a terrible curse that could only be broken by a maiden’s kiss? She ought to be relieved that the beast had turned out to be nothing but a man. And a very ordinary one at that.
    Shaking her head, Gwendolyn backed toward the open panel. “Farewell, M’lord Dragon,” she murmured. “For I doubt we shall ever meet again.”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you.” A pair of warm hands closed over her shoulders from behind, caressing the fluted arch of her collarbones. “On the contrary, my dear, I think we’d best be prepared to enjoy each other’s company for quite some time.”

Chapter Six

    DON’T TURN AROUND,” the Dragon commanded with the authority of a man accustomed to having his orders obeyed.
    Gwendolyn was tempted to defy him, but the subtle pressure of his fingertips warned her that he was fully capable of enforcing his command, with or without her cooperation. She didn’t relish the prospect of engaging him in a full-out brawl, especially while garbed only in a sheet that had an alarming tendency to slither down her body with a will of its own.
    Out of a swirl of dizzying impressions, she struggled to form an image of him. He was taller than her by at least a head, maybe more. He had an aristocrat’s hands, with lean, long fingers and neatly clipped nails. Black hair dusted the backs of those hands. As she breathed in his scent, now mingled with the tantalizing musk of cheroot smoke, she realized what a fool she’d been to have mistaken the man she’d bashed with the birdcagefor the Dragon, whose mere presence made every nerve in her body tingle with awareness.
    The other man sat up, groaning and rubbing the back of his head.
    “The cheeky little chit ambushed me,” he muttered, drawing a handkerchief from his breast pocket and using it to swipe chocolate from his cheek. “I never saw it coming.”
    “One rarely does where a woman is concerned,” the Dragon said dryly. She could sense him eyeing the carnage of what was meant to be her breakfast. “I take it she has