Read Online The Black Cat by Hayley Ann Solomon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Hayley Ann Solomon
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mistaken for prim had the earl not had an intense, deep, and instinctive feel for the passions that lay very close to the surface with her.
He stretched out his hand and lightly caressed her neck. She did not move. A hoyden, a widgeon perhaps, but undeniably a lady. An adorable, utterly unutterably beautiful lady. The one decreed by destiny to be his. He remembered the words uttered dreamily on that cold, distant night. âI, my lord, am your destiny. âHad she felt it, too, then? To look at her trembling lips now, he supposed she had. He looked again. They were so soft, so undeniably pliant and sweet. . . .
He moved toward her and found them parting, almost in readiness for the inevitable. In spite of his better, more chivalrous intentions, he found himself drawn to them, tasting, testing, loving again. They were wet with innocence, provocative beyond imagination. They held him captive in their thrall and he was a willing prisoner. Melinda felt the storm again, the lightning, the flashes of light, the burning, burning from her depths. . . . The horses were restive, but neither party to this singular impropriety appeared to care.
Despite her deep annoyance at being caught at such a disadvantage, Miss St. Jardine felt her arms creeping around that of the overbearing, dreadfully autocratic, and devastatingly attractive rogue of the first stare. Not just creeping, but actively pulling, wantonly clinging. He appeared not to mind this circumstance, for his own hands crept around her tiny waist as he applied himself with passion to the fruits of her rosy lips.
For several moments the third Earl of Camden and the gypsy Melinda remained oblivious to their public surroundings. Neither noticed a solitary black cat leap from my lordâs saddle and perch in the beech tree. If they had, they would have been startled to note the gleam of triumph that sparked from shadowy emerald eyes. Neither noticed footsteps upon the path or the cheeky calls of two sweepers privy to their embrace.
Only the distinct clearing of a throat forced them to finally, reluctantly, take stock. A man in sensible brogues and an expensive, if unstylish, greatcoat of dark serge looked both embarrassed and intrigued to find his employer thus engaged. The earl grinned impishly at the man on horseback, whoâd evidently entered the park at a sedate pace and come by Lord Santana purely as a matter of chance.
âDaniel! I had no idea you were fond of exercise!â
Mr. Pelliat cast an appreciative glance at the maiden, then frowned a little at his employer.
âI find town life can lead to a deal of lethargy, sir! I like to exercise Clarence at least once a week.â
There was an uncomfortable pause as the earl remembered he could not introduce the lady. Since he had not the pleasure of her name, the exercise would be fatuousânot to say decidedly embarrassingâin the extreme. He noticed that she was fiddling with the bridle and wondered if she meant to make a bolt for it. Well she couldnât really, for she still needed a leg up.
Melinda was just thinking exactly those thoughts. A faint blush suffused her face as she realised the compromising position in which she had been discovered. Well, Jane had warned her and she was right. She was ruined.
The earl sensed some of these thoughts. Quietly, he helped her to mount. She could smell his scent masculine and clean and as intoxicating as mead on a wintry day. He was smiling, though heaven knew, he had no rhyme or reason or even right to do so. She stared at him reproachfully, though no words were uttered.
The moment was too intense, too full of joy and sadness, hope and futility, to be translated into any commonplace verbiage. Then, as she fiddled with the restless beastâs dark hidebound reins, she believed her ears were deceiving her. The delicious, masculine lips were definitely moving. She must be hearing him aright!
âDaniel, may I present to you my affianced
He stretched out his hand and lightly caressed her neck. She did not move. A hoyden, a widgeon perhaps, but undeniably a lady. An adorable, utterly unutterably beautiful lady. The one decreed by destiny to be his. He remembered the words uttered dreamily on that cold, distant night. âI, my lord, am your destiny. âHad she felt it, too, then? To look at her trembling lips now, he supposed she had. He looked again. They were so soft, so undeniably pliant and sweet. . . .
He moved toward her and found them parting, almost in readiness for the inevitable. In spite of his better, more chivalrous intentions, he found himself drawn to them, tasting, testing, loving again. They were wet with innocence, provocative beyond imagination. They held him captive in their thrall and he was a willing prisoner. Melinda felt the storm again, the lightning, the flashes of light, the burning, burning from her depths. . . . The horses were restive, but neither party to this singular impropriety appeared to care.
Despite her deep annoyance at being caught at such a disadvantage, Miss St. Jardine felt her arms creeping around that of the overbearing, dreadfully autocratic, and devastatingly attractive rogue of the first stare. Not just creeping, but actively pulling, wantonly clinging. He appeared not to mind this circumstance, for his own hands crept around her tiny waist as he applied himself with passion to the fruits of her rosy lips.
For several moments the third Earl of Camden and the gypsy Melinda remained oblivious to their public surroundings. Neither noticed a solitary black cat leap from my lordâs saddle and perch in the beech tree. If they had, they would have been startled to note the gleam of triumph that sparked from shadowy emerald eyes. Neither noticed footsteps upon the path or the cheeky calls of two sweepers privy to their embrace.
Only the distinct clearing of a throat forced them to finally, reluctantly, take stock. A man in sensible brogues and an expensive, if unstylish, greatcoat of dark serge looked both embarrassed and intrigued to find his employer thus engaged. The earl grinned impishly at the man on horseback, whoâd evidently entered the park at a sedate pace and come by Lord Santana purely as a matter of chance.
âDaniel! I had no idea you were fond of exercise!â
Mr. Pelliat cast an appreciative glance at the maiden, then frowned a little at his employer.
âI find town life can lead to a deal of lethargy, sir! I like to exercise Clarence at least once a week.â
There was an uncomfortable pause as the earl remembered he could not introduce the lady. Since he had not the pleasure of her name, the exercise would be fatuousânot to say decidedly embarrassingâin the extreme. He noticed that she was fiddling with the bridle and wondered if she meant to make a bolt for it. Well she couldnât really, for she still needed a leg up.
Melinda was just thinking exactly those thoughts. A faint blush suffused her face as she realised the compromising position in which she had been discovered. Well, Jane had warned her and she was right. She was ruined.
The earl sensed some of these thoughts. Quietly, he helped her to mount. She could smell his scent masculine and clean and as intoxicating as mead on a wintry day. He was smiling, though heaven knew, he had no rhyme or reason or even right to do so. She stared at him reproachfully, though no words were uttered.
The moment was too intense, too full of joy and sadness, hope and futility, to be translated into any commonplace verbiage. Then, as she fiddled with the restless beastâs dark hidebound reins, she believed her ears were deceiving her. The delicious, masculine lips were definitely moving. She must be hearing him aright!
âDaniel, may I present to you my affianced
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