Read Online Mistletoe and Mischief by Patricia Wynn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Patricia Wynn
Tags: Regency Romance
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the Regent's business.”
She had not meant to drag Charles into the affair, but the claims of the puppy were surely more important than Charles's discretion. Besides, she felt confident that Charles would feel exactly as she did.
She sneezed again and tried to hold the puppy away from her, but when she did, it started to whimper. She realized, too, that such a gesture might suggest a willingness to give the dog up, and that Louisa was earnestly determined not to do, so she hugged the creature tighter.
By this time, Mrs. Spadger and a big lad who looked as if he might be her son had heard the commotion and come outside to investigate. While the stranger expostulated, Sammy explained the situation to his wife, who expressed her indignation at the bully but could not bring herself to take Louisa's side. Both she and her husband seemed to have too great a respect for the laws of ownership to overlook them.
Louisa was too overcome by another fit of sneezing to argue just then, but she found an unexpected champion in the Spadgers' son. For when the burly man reached for the puppy and would have wrenched it from her, he was confronted by a huge pair of fists.
Sammy put his hand on the boy's shoulder.
“Leave off now, Jim–hold on, son.”
“If you will only wait for my cousin ... achoo! ... he will take care of all ... achoo! Oh, damn!” Louisa was driven to profanity by her sneezes, which seemed to have become uncontrollable. Her throat was thickening and throbbing, and minute by minute she found it more difficult to breathe. But she refused to relinquish the trusting puppy, which had begun to plaster sticky, wet kisses on her face.
Louisa prayed that Charles would come soon.
Though she considered entrusting the dog to one of the Spadgers, at least for the moment, any one of them might decide to give the creature back to its tormentor. She could not risk it.
The burly man had raised his fists when confronted by Jim’s, and now pushed past him to make a grab for the puppy. A shoving match followed, which Louisa would have stopped if only she could stop sneezing.
It was with desperate relief that she heard Charles's cool voice carrying over the snow. “What in the devil's name is going on?”
Charles had approached the inn in a warm haze, caused in large part by Ned's brandy. But the cold of the night air had just started to seep through his overcoat, and he had begun to look forward to a dinner with Louisa.
He remembered the punch she had told the innkeeper to prepare for him the night before, and he wondered whether she would do so again. Somehow the thought that she might not think of it was more disturbing than the thought of actually missing the punch.
He was just about to ponder the meaning of this when the scene in front of the inn caught his eye: a crowd of people it seemed, and in its centre, Louisa, holding what looked like a fur muff to her exposed bosom.
A feeling of dread stole over him, even as he questioned her choice of attire.
He spurred his horse and called out in as cool a voice as he could muster. He had no doubt Louisa had done something foolish and that he would have to pay for it. A feeling of betrayal ran through him–couldn't she keep out of trouble for one hour? But as he dismounted, his anger was mollified by the sight of tears in her eyes as she turned to him with a rapturous smile.
“Charles! Thank heaven, you've come!”
She hurried to him and thrust her muff into his hands. Charles caught the bundle, fresh from the warmth of her bosom, and stared down at her. Even in the lantern's dim light, he could see the rosy imprint it had left on her flesh, from the bottom of her chin down to the neckline of her gown. His eyes were then drawn to its thin material, through which evidence of the chill she was suffering was prominently visible. The sight brought heat to Charles's face as he remembered Ned's advice.
He stared and swallowed. But then the bundle he had taken for a muff began
She had not meant to drag Charles into the affair, but the claims of the puppy were surely more important than Charles's discretion. Besides, she felt confident that Charles would feel exactly as she did.
She sneezed again and tried to hold the puppy away from her, but when she did, it started to whimper. She realized, too, that such a gesture might suggest a willingness to give the dog up, and that Louisa was earnestly determined not to do, so she hugged the creature tighter.
By this time, Mrs. Spadger and a big lad who looked as if he might be her son had heard the commotion and come outside to investigate. While the stranger expostulated, Sammy explained the situation to his wife, who expressed her indignation at the bully but could not bring herself to take Louisa's side. Both she and her husband seemed to have too great a respect for the laws of ownership to overlook them.
Louisa was too overcome by another fit of sneezing to argue just then, but she found an unexpected champion in the Spadgers' son. For when the burly man reached for the puppy and would have wrenched it from her, he was confronted by a huge pair of fists.
Sammy put his hand on the boy's shoulder.
“Leave off now, Jim–hold on, son.”
“If you will only wait for my cousin ... achoo! ... he will take care of all ... achoo! Oh, damn!” Louisa was driven to profanity by her sneezes, which seemed to have become uncontrollable. Her throat was thickening and throbbing, and minute by minute she found it more difficult to breathe. But she refused to relinquish the trusting puppy, which had begun to plaster sticky, wet kisses on her face.
Louisa prayed that Charles would come soon.
Though she considered entrusting the dog to one of the Spadgers, at least for the moment, any one of them might decide to give the creature back to its tormentor. She could not risk it.
The burly man had raised his fists when confronted by Jim’s, and now pushed past him to make a grab for the puppy. A shoving match followed, which Louisa would have stopped if only she could stop sneezing.
It was with desperate relief that she heard Charles's cool voice carrying over the snow. “What in the devil's name is going on?”
Charles had approached the inn in a warm haze, caused in large part by Ned's brandy. But the cold of the night air had just started to seep through his overcoat, and he had begun to look forward to a dinner with Louisa.
He remembered the punch she had told the innkeeper to prepare for him the night before, and he wondered whether she would do so again. Somehow the thought that she might not think of it was more disturbing than the thought of actually missing the punch.
He was just about to ponder the meaning of this when the scene in front of the inn caught his eye: a crowd of people it seemed, and in its centre, Louisa, holding what looked like a fur muff to her exposed bosom.
A feeling of dread stole over him, even as he questioned her choice of attire.
He spurred his horse and called out in as cool a voice as he could muster. He had no doubt Louisa had done something foolish and that he would have to pay for it. A feeling of betrayal ran through him–couldn't she keep out of trouble for one hour? But as he dismounted, his anger was mollified by the sight of tears in her eyes as she turned to him with a rapturous smile.
“Charles! Thank heaven, you've come!”
She hurried to him and thrust her muff into his hands. Charles caught the bundle, fresh from the warmth of her bosom, and stared down at her. Even in the lantern's dim light, he could see the rosy imprint it had left on her flesh, from the bottom of her chin down to the neckline of her gown. His eyes were then drawn to its thin material, through which evidence of the chill she was suffering was prominently visible. The sight brought heat to Charles's face as he remembered Ned's advice.
He stared and swallowed. But then the bundle he had taken for a muff began
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