Read Online The Black Cat by Hayley Ann Solomon - Free Book Online
Authors: Hayley Ann Solomon
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blue in a perfect, expressive, adorable face.
âI have searched all of London for you!â The words were seductively soft. Melinda felt herself shiver from the mental caress. She blinked, then turned her nose up scornfully.
âWhy? To dress me down in public?â She hoped her tone was suitably disdainful, despite the wistful hammering of her traitorous heart.
âThis is hardly in public, my dear. When I wish to deliver a public set down, be assured I shall do so with more audience than one willful, disobedient stallion and an equally willful mistress!â The words were spoken more with amused irony than malice, but Melinda felt herself colouring nonetheless. How could she be discovered in this bumble bath by the very object of her spirit dreams?
Miss St. Jardine felt slightly faint with confusion. It did not help that the man towering above her was grinning widely and regarding her with a stare destined to upset even the hardiest maidenâs composure. To cover her confusion, she allowed cold reason to intervene.
âI do believe I hear someone on the footpath!â
âDo you? My point exactly! You canât go haring around the countryside on an oversize beast when half the population is taking a stroll through the gardens! It is neither wise nor comme il faut!â
âA year ago I would not have thought you cared a jot for such trifles! You appeared, to me, to be a man, not a lily-livered mouse talking about convention! Comme il faut, comme il faut! Was our little tryst in the storm comme il faut?â
Miss St. Jardine spat out the words, for she was confused, overset, and more than a little angry. The cherished moment she had dreamed of all this tedious time in exileânether gypsy queen nor lady bornâwas spoiled.
Sheâd imagined a reunion of sentiment, of surprise, of ecstasy. Not a dispassionate discourse on etiquette preceded by the undignified threat of a spanking. She wished she could bring herself to despise those twinkling dark eyes, but to her chagrin, she found that she could not. Scowling did not seem to help, so she gave it up with resignation and glared instead.
Lord Santana looked upon the woman who had haunted his every dream and smiled. Every bit as willful as he remembered, despite the subdued garb and the obvious accoutrements of a lady born. A puzzle, then, for he could have sworn she was a Romanie lass that night. Still, her accents had always been mystifyingly English. . . . He closed his eyes. Perhaps the very strength of his wishes was enough to allow a miracle such as this to come to pass. He answered her question.
âComme il faut? Hardly that, you little witch, and you know it!â
Melinda, for once, was bereft of words. She opened her mouth to remonstrate, but her pretty little tongue seemed singularly uncooperative. She gaped at the gentleman before her.
Lord Guy Santana schooled his features so as not to reveal the ready light of laughter that threatened to creep across his lips and quite overset him. He was exultant at this small but obvious triumph. He hadâhe could seeâthe power to silence her.
All but her breathing, which was so quick and intense that it caused delicate mounds of creamy flesh to rise and fall in the most provocative of ways. He held himself tightly in check. The little vixen had her own powers. He must not forget that! His spirits soared at this chance meeting with the one woman who had moulded his desires for a twelve month at least.
And talking of desires. . . his body ached from them. He cursed under his breath and prayed, in a rather ungentlemanly manner, that the lady was suffering from the same discomforts. He suspected she was, for her morning dress, though delightful, seemed strangely tight across the front and the pulses in her neck were decidedly quickening. He grinned engagingly.
An answering gleam reluctantly sparkled in her eyes, though she closed her mouth firmly. She might have been
âI have searched all of London for you!â The words were seductively soft. Melinda felt herself shiver from the mental caress. She blinked, then turned her nose up scornfully.
âWhy? To dress me down in public?â She hoped her tone was suitably disdainful, despite the wistful hammering of her traitorous heart.
âThis is hardly in public, my dear. When I wish to deliver a public set down, be assured I shall do so with more audience than one willful, disobedient stallion and an equally willful mistress!â The words were spoken more with amused irony than malice, but Melinda felt herself colouring nonetheless. How could she be discovered in this bumble bath by the very object of her spirit dreams?
Miss St. Jardine felt slightly faint with confusion. It did not help that the man towering above her was grinning widely and regarding her with a stare destined to upset even the hardiest maidenâs composure. To cover her confusion, she allowed cold reason to intervene.
âI do believe I hear someone on the footpath!â
âDo you? My point exactly! You canât go haring around the countryside on an oversize beast when half the population is taking a stroll through the gardens! It is neither wise nor comme il faut!â
âA year ago I would not have thought you cared a jot for such trifles! You appeared, to me, to be a man, not a lily-livered mouse talking about convention! Comme il faut, comme il faut! Was our little tryst in the storm comme il faut?â
Miss St. Jardine spat out the words, for she was confused, overset, and more than a little angry. The cherished moment she had dreamed of all this tedious time in exileânether gypsy queen nor lady bornâwas spoiled.
Sheâd imagined a reunion of sentiment, of surprise, of ecstasy. Not a dispassionate discourse on etiquette preceded by the undignified threat of a spanking. She wished she could bring herself to despise those twinkling dark eyes, but to her chagrin, she found that she could not. Scowling did not seem to help, so she gave it up with resignation and glared instead.
Lord Santana looked upon the woman who had haunted his every dream and smiled. Every bit as willful as he remembered, despite the subdued garb and the obvious accoutrements of a lady born. A puzzle, then, for he could have sworn she was a Romanie lass that night. Still, her accents had always been mystifyingly English. . . . He closed his eyes. Perhaps the very strength of his wishes was enough to allow a miracle such as this to come to pass. He answered her question.
âComme il faut? Hardly that, you little witch, and you know it!â
Melinda, for once, was bereft of words. She opened her mouth to remonstrate, but her pretty little tongue seemed singularly uncooperative. She gaped at the gentleman before her.
Lord Guy Santana schooled his features so as not to reveal the ready light of laughter that threatened to creep across his lips and quite overset him. He was exultant at this small but obvious triumph. He hadâhe could seeâthe power to silence her.
All but her breathing, which was so quick and intense that it caused delicate mounds of creamy flesh to rise and fall in the most provocative of ways. He held himself tightly in check. The little vixen had her own powers. He must not forget that! His spirits soared at this chance meeting with the one woman who had moulded his desires for a twelve month at least.
And talking of desires. . . his body ached from them. He cursed under his breath and prayed, in a rather ungentlemanly manner, that the lady was suffering from the same discomforts. He suspected she was, for her morning dress, though delightful, seemed strangely tight across the front and the pulses in her neck were decidedly quickening. He grinned engagingly.
An answering gleam reluctantly sparkled in her eyes, though she closed her mouth firmly. She might have been
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