Read Online The Rambunctious Lady Royston by Kasey Michaels - Free Book Online Page B

threw back his head and laughed. "My dear, as you go on you will learn that rank and position are considered ample excuses—yea, even downright demands—for frequent displays of vulgarity. I submit in evidence our own Florizel, the Prince of Wales."
    Samantha looked puzzled for a moment and then, her mind conjuring up an image of the flamboyant prince as she had seen him one day in Hyde Park, she joined in the laughter.
    This air of bonhomie lasted throughout the day—already mutually agreed to be their last day aboard because of the damage to the galley—and it was only as the satinwood table in the cabin was set for an obvious dîner pour deux that she began to feel apprehensive. By dawn the next day they would be back in Margate, their honeymoon officially over, so tonight would surely be the night St. John would claim her as his own.
    The Earl sensed Samantha's tenseness and went out of his way to be a charming dinner companion, keeping the chatter and the wine flowing freely throughout the meal. Indeed, Samantha was so relaxed that, when Zachary remarked on her creamy complexion and how it was set to glowing from the candlelight, she blurted out her misgivings about the value of freckles on a Countess's nose and cheeks.
    "I have tried a freckle removal recipe of strawberries crushed in green grape juice and a quantity of ass's milk, but I fear it's much the same as Mr. Graham's cures—a bucketful of promise backed by only a thimbleful of results. So if you can learn to tolerate the horrid, spotty things, I'd appreciate it, as I can't abide going to bed with bits of strawberry clinging to my cheeks."
    St. John manfully hid his amusement at this ingenuous disclosure and proclaimed that he for one would cast neither aspersions upon nor attempt to eradicate such an entrancing sprinkling of golden dust.
    This and a multitude of other compliments, when added to the unaccustomed quantity of wine she had sipped from glasses that were mysteriously refilled from the bottom every time she took a swallow, combined to throw Samantha into such a mood of congeniality that she quite forgot her intention of yawning prodigiously throughout the meal and then pleading fatigue and the need of an uneventful night. In addition to her unconscious tippling, she had attacked her dinner with all the efficiency of a practiced trencherman, so that she could not complain of a headache or unsettled stomach with any real confidence of being believed.
    As the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars began to twinkle in the darkened sky, Samantha was left with no choice but to prepare for bed and the inevitable granting of Zachary's husbandly rights. But she was determined to win at least one small battle and dragged out the time required for her toilette as long as possible, demanding a hip bath be brought to the cabin and then soaking in it so long she feared her fingers and toes would be wrinkled for a fortnight. If nothing else, she would make one thing clear: the St. Johns might be going to bed together sometime this night, but Samantha St. John alone would set the hour.
    Outside, the wind—which had been blowing fresh all day—began to increase in intensity as Samantha dressed in another negligee of her aunt's choosing: this one in a flattering sea-foam green rather than the virginal white of the other two she had already worn (even Aunt Loretta was acknowledging the disappearance of her niece's innocence), but no less revealing in its cut. Samantha had blithely left the choosing of her nightwear to Aunt Loretta—what with the pressure of an entire trousseau to gather in a little under a month—but then she had not then been aware of any latent lascivious streak in her spinster relative's character. As Samantha stood scowling at her reflection in the long mirror cunningly hung inside the cabinet door, the wind suddenly gusted, causing a bit of water from the hip bath to splash onto the carpet.
    St. John—once again outfitted for a casual