Read Online Moonglow by Kristen Callihan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kristen Callihan
Ads: Link
Ian. “Mr. Smith won’t be staying long.”
“If you’re sure, lass. You can’t be too careful these days, what with a killer on the loose.” The man didn’t notice Daisy blanch.
“It is good of you to worry, Clemens. But I am all right.”
“So long as you are certain.” Though his eyes were hard on Ian, he gently placed a plate of Welsh rabbit before Daisy. “If ye be needing anything. I’m just there.” He kept his eyes on Ian as he jerked his head toward the bar. “Right. There.”
“And not a step farther,” Ian added genially.
With another glare, Clemens thundered off, making a point not to wait for Ian’s order. Just as well since he didn’t fancy drinking anything offered by good old Clemens as it’d likely be spit in, or worse.
“Mr. Smith?” Ian asked when Daisy ignored him and set about eating her meal. He did not miss the way her hands shook just a fraction, but she seemed determined to let her worries go. “Why not simply call me Northrup?”
“Perhaps it is best to keep your anonymity,” she said.
He leaned on one elbow and watched as she daintily cut her cheese on toast into neat little pieces. “Perhaps I don’t want my anonymity.”
“Mmm.” She took a bite, savoring it for a brief moment. “Who says I was referring to
your
sensibilities? Perhaps I’d rather not be associated with you.”
He found himself grinning. “Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.You make my head spin, Meggy-girl, with your round-robin talk.” She scowled, and he swallowed down a laugh. “It is Meggy? Or Daisy? I wouldn’t want to be confused.”
“It is my name. Daisy Margaret Ellis.” She took another bite, eating her food with a strange combination of pleasure and economy. “Father called me Meggy before he settled on Daisy. Clemens took to it rather too fondly, I’m afraid. Frankly, I find both names deplorable. Why not Margaret or Meg?” She waved her fork in emphasis before catching his eye and seeing his broad grin. Instantly, she resumed her disinterested air. “You are a pest, you know that? Go away, will you? I’m not in the mood to play.”
The pain and sorrow creasing her eyes made him ache in sympathy. He knew that feeling of loss too well. Which was precisely why he would stay. “Ah now, I can’t be too terrible. After all, you are letting me share your table.”
“Better to do that than make a scene.” She patted her rosebud mouth with her table linen, and Ian shifted in his seat. A woman should not be allowed to possess such a mouth. “Besides,” she said, seemingly oblivious to his interest, “I wanted to know why you were following me.”
“Cannot this be a happy coincidence?” he asked lightly. He liked toying with her. When he batted, she always batted back.
“You’ve been following me since the church.”
“Oh?” He made a track through the condensation beading the pewter mug between them.
“Yes, ‘oh.’ ” Her knife sliced the bread cleanly. “I caught your scent not two feet out of the graveyard. Perhaps before.” Her shoulders lifted in a surprisingly Gaelic shrug. “I was distracted until then.”
“Ha! I bid you to prove it.” Though he made a show of smiling, it unnerved him just a bit to think he’d been caught out so soon.
The corners of her eyes tilted upward when she smiled in return. Much like a cat’s, he thought with a sudden qualm.
“Your valet uses champagne in his boot polish mix—very ingenious of him as your boots are like mirrors. He draws your bath with oil of rose hip and sweet orange, which makes me believe you suffer from dry skin. You wear Le Homme Number 12 from Smithe’s, an expensive cologne featuring essences of vetiver, amber, and sandalwood. And though its popularity among nobs might lead me to confuse you with another, one cannot overlook your natural scent, which is a subtle mix of meadow grass, fresh rain, white wine, and well… you.”
Ian stared at her with his mouth surely agape. She did not flinch,
“If you’re sure, lass. You can’t be too careful these days, what with a killer on the loose.” The man didn’t notice Daisy blanch.
“It is good of you to worry, Clemens. But I am all right.”
“So long as you are certain.” Though his eyes were hard on Ian, he gently placed a plate of Welsh rabbit before Daisy. “If ye be needing anything. I’m just there.” He kept his eyes on Ian as he jerked his head toward the bar. “Right. There.”
“And not a step farther,” Ian added genially.
With another glare, Clemens thundered off, making a point not to wait for Ian’s order. Just as well since he didn’t fancy drinking anything offered by good old Clemens as it’d likely be spit in, or worse.
“Mr. Smith?” Ian asked when Daisy ignored him and set about eating her meal. He did not miss the way her hands shook just a fraction, but she seemed determined to let her worries go. “Why not simply call me Northrup?”
“Perhaps it is best to keep your anonymity,” she said.
He leaned on one elbow and watched as she daintily cut her cheese on toast into neat little pieces. “Perhaps I don’t want my anonymity.”
“Mmm.” She took a bite, savoring it for a brief moment. “Who says I was referring to
your
sensibilities? Perhaps I’d rather not be associated with you.”
He found himself grinning. “Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.You make my head spin, Meggy-girl, with your round-robin talk.” She scowled, and he swallowed down a laugh. “It is Meggy? Or Daisy? I wouldn’t want to be confused.”
“It is my name. Daisy Margaret Ellis.” She took another bite, eating her food with a strange combination of pleasure and economy. “Father called me Meggy before he settled on Daisy. Clemens took to it rather too fondly, I’m afraid. Frankly, I find both names deplorable. Why not Margaret or Meg?” She waved her fork in emphasis before catching his eye and seeing his broad grin. Instantly, she resumed her disinterested air. “You are a pest, you know that? Go away, will you? I’m not in the mood to play.”
The pain and sorrow creasing her eyes made him ache in sympathy. He knew that feeling of loss too well. Which was precisely why he would stay. “Ah now, I can’t be too terrible. After all, you are letting me share your table.”
“Better to do that than make a scene.” She patted her rosebud mouth with her table linen, and Ian shifted in his seat. A woman should not be allowed to possess such a mouth. “Besides,” she said, seemingly oblivious to his interest, “I wanted to know why you were following me.”
“Cannot this be a happy coincidence?” he asked lightly. He liked toying with her. When he batted, she always batted back.
“You’ve been following me since the church.”
“Oh?” He made a track through the condensation beading the pewter mug between them.
“Yes, ‘oh.’ ” Her knife sliced the bread cleanly. “I caught your scent not two feet out of the graveyard. Perhaps before.” Her shoulders lifted in a surprisingly Gaelic shrug. “I was distracted until then.”
“Ha! I bid you to prove it.” Though he made a show of smiling, it unnerved him just a bit to think he’d been caught out so soon.
The corners of her eyes tilted upward when she smiled in return. Much like a cat’s, he thought with a sudden qualm.
“Your valet uses champagne in his boot polish mix—very ingenious of him as your boots are like mirrors. He draws your bath with oil of rose hip and sweet orange, which makes me believe you suffer from dry skin. You wear Le Homme Number 12 from Smithe’s, an expensive cologne featuring essences of vetiver, amber, and sandalwood. And though its popularity among nobs might lead me to confuse you with another, one cannot overlook your natural scent, which is a subtle mix of meadow grass, fresh rain, white wine, and well… you.”
Ian stared at her with his mouth surely agape. She did not flinch,
Similar Books
