irritated to amused. The man was mad. He was
laughing at her again. "I beg your pardon."
"My
dear." Fennington inched toward her, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Thank goodness he would take care of this hateful man. At least she could
depend on someone.
"Love
is not part of this little escapade, Lizzie," the intruder stated in a
commanding tone.
A cold
knot settled in Elizabeth's stomach. What was wrong with him? "I am Miss
Elizabeth Shelby to you, sir. So if you would please excuse us, we will be
taking our leave."
For a
moment the man stared back at her as if she had grown a beard. A second later
his hand shot out and grabbed her elbow. "No doubt someone will be taking
his leave, Miss Shelby, but it certainly will not be you."
Chapter Four
W ith a decisive jerk, Stephen
separated Miss Elizabeth Shelby from Fennington's side.
He
wanted to beat his head against the disfigured elm. Lizzie, her sister had
called her. He should have known.
Dash it
all, this was a hideous nightmare. But by heaven, as a gentleman of honor he
could not let this little bird fly the coop into Fennington's greedy hands.
Besides,
Stephen thought bitterly, as his fiancée, the female belonged to him whether he
liked it or not.
He set
his teeth. How utterly convenient.
Watching
the shocked expression playing across Miss Shelby's face, Stephen felt his
maddening emotions gradually fade, only to be replaced by a stir of deranged
amusement.
Miss
Shelby was, without a doubt, a feisty little creature, and she definitely did
not come by her looks from her father's side of the family. She was not what
one would call exquisite, but her haughty manner made up for what she lacked in
conventional beauty.
Nevertheless,
the chit was rounded in all the right places. He knew that the minute she had
dropped from the sky and literally fallen onto his chest. Gracefully
curvaceous, he thought, and quite pretty when riled. Her cheeks reminded him of
a cherub—plump and rosy. But her big blue eyes reflected an innocence and
naïveté that brought his protective instincts to the surface.
He felt
her stiffen under his regard. It was obvious this girl had no idea of the
depths of Fennington's deceit.
He
stared at her lips, recalling the kiss in the stables, realizing he had enjoyed
their earlier confrontation immensely. Yet she was so gullible it amazed him.
And here
she was with Fennington.
For the
love of the king, he had not forgotten the prim little miss at all. But heaven
help him, if the lady had wanted to box his ears in the stables, wait until she
heard the news that they were to be married.
Dappled
moonlight played against her creamy white skin, and he caught Fennington eyeing
her bare shoulder with the look of a wolf licking his chops.
In one
smooth move, Stephen lunged toward the cloak lying on the trunk, grabbed it,
and threw it to her. "Here, put this on. Don't want you to catch a fever
of the lungs, now, do we?"
Those
blue eyes snapped back at him as if he were the devil himself. "What would
you care?"
"I
think, Miss Shelby, that you may find my answer rather enlightening."
So this
was the lady he was to marry. He would have laughed if the situation were not
so horrid. And the joke of it was, she thought herself in love with Fennington.
Well, he
could let her follow through with this little fiasco and relieve himself of the
burden of marrying her, but there was no honor in that. And though he was an
absolute idiot to drink and gamble his life away, no matter what his excuse, it
was no reason to let this girl marry the weasel before him.
"See
here," Fennington said, "we have had our differences, but I say, be a
good chap and let us be on our way."
Stuffing
a hand into his pocket, Stephen turned toward the six-foot worm across from him
and gave the maggot a twisted smile. "As a gentleman, I cannot do that.
You do understand, do you not, old chap?"
The
peabrain had the gall to pull out that stupid quizzing glass and look him
laughing at her again. "I beg your pardon."
"My
dear." Fennington inched toward her, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Thank goodness he would take care of this hateful man. At least she could
depend on someone.
"Love
is not part of this little escapade, Lizzie," the intruder stated in a
commanding tone.
A cold
knot settled in Elizabeth's stomach. What was wrong with him? "I am Miss
Elizabeth Shelby to you, sir. So if you would please excuse us, we will be
taking our leave."
For a
moment the man stared back at her as if she had grown a beard. A second later
his hand shot out and grabbed her elbow. "No doubt someone will be taking
his leave, Miss Shelby, but it certainly will not be you."
Chapter Four
W ith a decisive jerk, Stephen
separated Miss Elizabeth Shelby from Fennington's side.
He
wanted to beat his head against the disfigured elm. Lizzie, her sister had
called her. He should have known.
Dash it
all, this was a hideous nightmare. But by heaven, as a gentleman of honor he
could not let this little bird fly the coop into Fennington's greedy hands.
Besides,
Stephen thought bitterly, as his fiancée, the female belonged to him whether he
liked it or not.
He set
his teeth. How utterly convenient.
Watching
the shocked expression playing across Miss Shelby's face, Stephen felt his
maddening emotions gradually fade, only to be replaced by a stir of deranged
amusement.
Miss
Shelby was, without a doubt, a feisty little creature, and she definitely did
not come by her looks from her father's side of the family. She was not what
one would call exquisite, but her haughty manner made up for what she lacked in
conventional beauty.
Nevertheless,
the chit was rounded in all the right places. He knew that the minute she had
dropped from the sky and literally fallen onto his chest. Gracefully
curvaceous, he thought, and quite pretty when riled. Her cheeks reminded him of
a cherub—plump and rosy. But her big blue eyes reflected an innocence and
naïveté that brought his protective instincts to the surface.
He felt
her stiffen under his regard. It was obvious this girl had no idea of the
depths of Fennington's deceit.
He
stared at her lips, recalling the kiss in the stables, realizing he had enjoyed
their earlier confrontation immensely. Yet she was so gullible it amazed him.
And here
she was with Fennington.
For the
love of the king, he had not forgotten the prim little miss at all. But heaven
help him, if the lady had wanted to box his ears in the stables, wait until she
heard the news that they were to be married.
Dappled
moonlight played against her creamy white skin, and he caught Fennington eyeing
her bare shoulder with the look of a wolf licking his chops.
In one
smooth move, Stephen lunged toward the cloak lying on the trunk, grabbed it,
and threw it to her. "Here, put this on. Don't want you to catch a fever
of the lungs, now, do we?"
Those
blue eyes snapped back at him as if he were the devil himself. "What would
you care?"
"I
think, Miss Shelby, that you may find my answer rather enlightening."
So this
was the lady he was to marry. He would have laughed if the situation were not
so horrid. And the joke of it was, she thought herself in love with Fennington.
Well, he
could let her follow through with this little fiasco and relieve himself of the
burden of marrying her, but there was no honor in that. And though he was an
absolute idiot to drink and gamble his life away, no matter what his excuse, it
was no reason to let this girl marry the weasel before him.
"See
here," Fennington said, "we have had our differences, but I say, be a
good chap and let us be on our way."
Stuffing
a hand into his pocket, Stephen turned toward the six-foot worm across from him
and gave the maggot a twisted smile. "As a gentleman, I cannot do that.
You do understand, do you not, old chap?"
The
peabrain had the gall to pull out that stupid quizzing glass and look him
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