Read Online Warrior's Angel (The Lost Angels Book 4) by Heather Killough-Walden - Free Book Online
Authors: Heather Killough-Walden
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Rhiannon . She turned to look back at the crowd where Lambent had disappeared. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “That was Samuel Lambent.”
“Yes, it was ,” said Verdigri through the side of his mouth. “So be on your best behavior when we join him and his men for drinks, because that man is richer than God.”
I can’t do this , she suddenly thought to herself. Samuel Lambent had been the world’s most eligible bachelor for years. He was gorgeous beyond being comfortable, and she could attest to the fact that the rumors about his eyes had all been true. They were indeed like a coming storm.
And Verdigri was also right. He was richer than God. He was overwhelming. He was intimidating. He could have any woman, and probably close to any man, that he wanted, and she was supposed to charm him?
“I have to know,” she murmured, feeling a tad numb. “How much did he give you?”
Verdigri swallowed whatever he’d been chewing and took her drink off the table to wash it down. When he’d licked his lips and placed her goblet back on the table, he leaned in and whispered, “Think eight digits. And that’s just the first half.”
Chapter Five
The gala’s lights lowered a touch, the music was turned up a bit, and the “dance” floor at the center of the renovated cathedral began to fill with more twisting, turning revelers.
W hen a masked woman with an enormous bosom bumped into Mr. Verdigri from behind, causing him to drop part of the piece of pie he was eating, he turned to face the voluptuous stranger. She covered her mouth and excused herself profusely for her clumsiness, he insisted it was his fault, and Rhiannon tried very hard not to grin like a Cheshire cat when he then wiped his hands on a napkin and asked the woman if she would care to join him in a dance.
The woman’s blush was visible around the edges of her peacock mask as she accepted and placed her hand in his. Rhiannon watched them head out onto the dance floor.
The music was perfect for the theme of the night, a hypnotic, eclectic mix of classical made into rave, a smattering of waltz, and some kind of underlying beat that kept the lights flashing and persuaded the younger crowd onto the dance floor.
Rhiannon had just accepted a fresh glass of some beautifully concocted , pink and orange drink from a waiter’s offered tray, when a man in a mask nervously cleared his throat beside her. She turned to find a rather short-ish gentleman with thinning hair but expert taste in costumes nervously stepping closer.
“My lady, I was hoping you would do me the very great honor of joining me in a dance?” he asked, and she could hear the wobble of uncertainty in his voice. It endeared her to him at once.
She smiled broadly. “I would love to. Thank you.” She actually adored ballroom dancing, and because of the nature of her work and the flamboyant character of her employer, she’d had plenty of practice over the years. In fact, at one point she’d taken and mastered lessons from an expert.
The man beamed in triumphant surprise and offered her his white gloved hand. Rhiannon set down her drink, took his hand, and accompanied him onto the dance floor.
Once there, his confidence increased ten-fold, and Rhiannon found herself swept into a sure embrace just as the band began a waltz number that drew the crowd together in synchronized circles. He was a wonderful dancer, expertly twirling her this way and that, meeting her in perfect rhythm as the musicians and their sound system caressed the crowd.
Rhiannon found herself smil ing of her own accord, her tense body easing into relaxation despite the demanding nature of the dance. Any initial concerns she’d had about making a good impression on her employer’s possible benefactor began to melt away while the music moved them from one step and into the next.
At a certa in juncture in the dance, partners separated, and each woman was paired with a different man. Rhiannon found herself dancing with
“Yes, it was ,” said Verdigri through the side of his mouth. “So be on your best behavior when we join him and his men for drinks, because that man is richer than God.”
I can’t do this , she suddenly thought to herself. Samuel Lambent had been the world’s most eligible bachelor for years. He was gorgeous beyond being comfortable, and she could attest to the fact that the rumors about his eyes had all been true. They were indeed like a coming storm.
And Verdigri was also right. He was richer than God. He was overwhelming. He was intimidating. He could have any woman, and probably close to any man, that he wanted, and she was supposed to charm him?
“I have to know,” she murmured, feeling a tad numb. “How much did he give you?”
Verdigri swallowed whatever he’d been chewing and took her drink off the table to wash it down. When he’d licked his lips and placed her goblet back on the table, he leaned in and whispered, “Think eight digits. And that’s just the first half.”
Chapter Five
The gala’s lights lowered a touch, the music was turned up a bit, and the “dance” floor at the center of the renovated cathedral began to fill with more twisting, turning revelers.
W hen a masked woman with an enormous bosom bumped into Mr. Verdigri from behind, causing him to drop part of the piece of pie he was eating, he turned to face the voluptuous stranger. She covered her mouth and excused herself profusely for her clumsiness, he insisted it was his fault, and Rhiannon tried very hard not to grin like a Cheshire cat when he then wiped his hands on a napkin and asked the woman if she would care to join him in a dance.
The woman’s blush was visible around the edges of her peacock mask as she accepted and placed her hand in his. Rhiannon watched them head out onto the dance floor.
The music was perfect for the theme of the night, a hypnotic, eclectic mix of classical made into rave, a smattering of waltz, and some kind of underlying beat that kept the lights flashing and persuaded the younger crowd onto the dance floor.
Rhiannon had just accepted a fresh glass of some beautifully concocted , pink and orange drink from a waiter’s offered tray, when a man in a mask nervously cleared his throat beside her. She turned to find a rather short-ish gentleman with thinning hair but expert taste in costumes nervously stepping closer.
“My lady, I was hoping you would do me the very great honor of joining me in a dance?” he asked, and she could hear the wobble of uncertainty in his voice. It endeared her to him at once.
She smiled broadly. “I would love to. Thank you.” She actually adored ballroom dancing, and because of the nature of her work and the flamboyant character of her employer, she’d had plenty of practice over the years. In fact, at one point she’d taken and mastered lessons from an expert.
The man beamed in triumphant surprise and offered her his white gloved hand. Rhiannon set down her drink, took his hand, and accompanied him onto the dance floor.
Once there, his confidence increased ten-fold, and Rhiannon found herself swept into a sure embrace just as the band began a waltz number that drew the crowd together in synchronized circles. He was a wonderful dancer, expertly twirling her this way and that, meeting her in perfect rhythm as the musicians and their sound system caressed the crowd.
Rhiannon found herself smil ing of her own accord, her tense body easing into relaxation despite the demanding nature of the dance. Any initial concerns she’d had about making a good impression on her employer’s possible benefactor began to melt away while the music moved them from one step and into the next.
At a certa in juncture in the dance, partners separated, and each woman was paired with a different man. Rhiannon found herself dancing with
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