Read Online The Rambunctious Lady Royston by Kasey Michaels - Free Book Online
Authors: Kasey Michaels
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for the freely admitted twofold purpose of fighting the fire and ridding herself of such an offensive article.
At last physical discomfort overtook their pleasure, and each went off to await uncomfortably cold hip baths and a necessarily light cold supper, made up from supplies kept in storage separate from the galley. Samantha was so exhausted by the time she crawled onto the right side of the mattress—the side she had arbitrarily chosen for herself—that she was asleep moments after her damp (but clean) head touched the pillow. If St. John wished to consummate the marriage this night, he would have a mightier task rousing his bride than ever he would have arousing her.
Chapter Six
When Samantha woke the next morning and turned over in the bed, it was to see St. John soundly asleep beside her.
She lay quietly for a few minutes, studying the dozing Earl. He slept on his stomach, and as she inspected his bare back—down to where the sheets covered him at the waist—she noticed he slept without nightclothes, much to her consternation since she too had preferred to sleep in the nude before marriage intervened. St. John's head was turned towards the middle of the bed, so that she had a clear view of his full lips—slightly relaxed now in sleep—as well as his dark, slightly curled, unruly thatch of hair, and the long sweep of his curving black eyelashes, which all joined together to give him the look of a much younger, more approachable man. Even his singed eyebrow looked innocent.
Samantha sniffed. So much for appearances; the man didn't have a kind bone in his body. If he did—she told herself as she remounted her favorite hobbyhorse and started in to ride—he wouldn't have maneuvered me into this marriage against all my wishes. Arrogant, self-centered, toplofty, selfish, domineering old coot! she screamed silently, her sleep-flushed face and tangled curls looking curiously at odds when combined with a pair of narrowed green eyes and a cherry-red bottom lip that was at the moment jutting forward in an unmistakable pout.
Such was the vision of contradictory impressions to meet his lordship's eyes when he awoke with the eerie feeling that someone was staring at him. He was not accustomed to sharing a bed—at least not for an entire night—and he was at first pleasantly surprised with the sight of his new bride. That glorious, long red hair, looking as if it possessed a life of its own, licked like living flames (he winced slightly at the thought of flames and fire) over the pillow and down about Samantha's shoulders. Her clear skin and pleasing, slight shape beneath the covers went a long way towards convincing the Earl that there were indeed benefits other than the obligatory heir to be derived from sharing a bed with this complicated child. But then, as his sleep-fogged mind cleared, his brain took in the mulish expression on his bride's expressive face.
"Are you going to tell me I snore?" he asked quietly.
"What? Oh, Zachary, you're awake," Samantha said, startled out of her reverie. "I don't know whether or not you snore, as I slept quite soundly, thank you, not that you asked," she informed him pithily. She could not tell him she had been staring at him while he slept, just like a cat eyeing a strange dog just come into the yard, so she changed the subject. "I was just lying here trying to decide where this ridiculous bed came from and, to be even more curious, why you or anyone would wish such a bizarre thing in your possession."
There! That was a reasonably intelligent question, if one considered that it came from a young girl lying in a strange bed beside a comparative stranger. And, if she but admitted it, she was a girl scared half out of her wits.
St. John turned onto his back, plumped up his pillow, and crossed his arms behind his head. "That, my inquisitive and impolite child—as well-behaved young misses do not go about casting stones at another's taste—is a long story. Do you wish to hear
At last physical discomfort overtook their pleasure, and each went off to await uncomfortably cold hip baths and a necessarily light cold supper, made up from supplies kept in storage separate from the galley. Samantha was so exhausted by the time she crawled onto the right side of the mattress—the side she had arbitrarily chosen for herself—that she was asleep moments after her damp (but clean) head touched the pillow. If St. John wished to consummate the marriage this night, he would have a mightier task rousing his bride than ever he would have arousing her.
Chapter Six
When Samantha woke the next morning and turned over in the bed, it was to see St. John soundly asleep beside her.
She lay quietly for a few minutes, studying the dozing Earl. He slept on his stomach, and as she inspected his bare back—down to where the sheets covered him at the waist—she noticed he slept without nightclothes, much to her consternation since she too had preferred to sleep in the nude before marriage intervened. St. John's head was turned towards the middle of the bed, so that she had a clear view of his full lips—slightly relaxed now in sleep—as well as his dark, slightly curled, unruly thatch of hair, and the long sweep of his curving black eyelashes, which all joined together to give him the look of a much younger, more approachable man. Even his singed eyebrow looked innocent.
Samantha sniffed. So much for appearances; the man didn't have a kind bone in his body. If he did—she told herself as she remounted her favorite hobbyhorse and started in to ride—he wouldn't have maneuvered me into this marriage against all my wishes. Arrogant, self-centered, toplofty, selfish, domineering old coot! she screamed silently, her sleep-flushed face and tangled curls looking curiously at odds when combined with a pair of narrowed green eyes and a cherry-red bottom lip that was at the moment jutting forward in an unmistakable pout.
Such was the vision of contradictory impressions to meet his lordship's eyes when he awoke with the eerie feeling that someone was staring at him. He was not accustomed to sharing a bed—at least not for an entire night—and he was at first pleasantly surprised with the sight of his new bride. That glorious, long red hair, looking as if it possessed a life of its own, licked like living flames (he winced slightly at the thought of flames and fire) over the pillow and down about Samantha's shoulders. Her clear skin and pleasing, slight shape beneath the covers went a long way towards convincing the Earl that there were indeed benefits other than the obligatory heir to be derived from sharing a bed with this complicated child. But then, as his sleep-fogged mind cleared, his brain took in the mulish expression on his bride's expressive face.
"Are you going to tell me I snore?" he asked quietly.
"What? Oh, Zachary, you're awake," Samantha said, startled out of her reverie. "I don't know whether or not you snore, as I slept quite soundly, thank you, not that you asked," she informed him pithily. She could not tell him she had been staring at him while he slept, just like a cat eyeing a strange dog just come into the yard, so she changed the subject. "I was just lying here trying to decide where this ridiculous bed came from and, to be even more curious, why you or anyone would wish such a bizarre thing in your possession."
There! That was a reasonably intelligent question, if one considered that it came from a young girl lying in a strange bed beside a comparative stranger. And, if she but admitted it, she was a girl scared half out of her wits.
St. John turned onto his back, plumped up his pillow, and crossed his arms behind his head. "That, my inquisitive and impolite child—as well-behaved young misses do not go about casting stones at another's taste—is a long story. Do you wish to hear
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