Bexley-Smythe Quintet 02 - Rhyme and Reason by Catherine Gayle Page B
Authors: Catherine Gayle
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chambers.”
“It would be from the mouth, my lord,” she said primly. “I daresay your great height might prove to be a disadvantage in this circumstance, but I’m sure your lips would heal eventually.”
“Either way—” Preston put another pace between them, trying to scour the room in the pale moonlight shining through the windows for any other potential weapons “—would it not behoove us both to prevent anyone from knowing of our midnight tryst? Or would you prefer to explain to everyone why you are here, in a part of my brother-in-law’s home which is not open for guests? And why you are not upstairs in your bed after seemingly feigning illness?”
“A part of his home you’re likewise in, my lord. I’ll be glad to inform them of how you knocked me to the floor and rolled atop me,” she snapped.
“You’re in such a rush to get to the altar, then?”
She let out a laugh which sent chills racing through Preston’s veins. “Not exactly, no.”
What on earth could possibly be so funny? A protracted silence fell upon them, then, which only caused his anxiety to reach new heights.
She took in a loud breath as though attempting to calm herself. “I do believe I might be in a hurry to see you at the altar, though.”
The chill which stole through Preston’s veins was liable to freeze him to the spot.
Catherine Gayle is a bestselling author of Regency-set historical romance. She’s a transplanted Texan living in North Carolina with two extremely spoiled felines. In her spare time, she watches way too much hockey and reality TV, plans fun things to do for the Nephew Monster’s next visit, and performs experiments in the kitchen which are rarely toxic.
Catherine loves to hear from her readers. You can send her an email at [email protected].
“It would be from the mouth, my lord,” she said primly. “I daresay your great height might prove to be a disadvantage in this circumstance, but I’m sure your lips would heal eventually.”
“Either way—” Preston put another pace between them, trying to scour the room in the pale moonlight shining through the windows for any other potential weapons “—would it not behoove us both to prevent anyone from knowing of our midnight tryst? Or would you prefer to explain to everyone why you are here, in a part of my brother-in-law’s home which is not open for guests? And why you are not upstairs in your bed after seemingly feigning illness?”
“A part of his home you’re likewise in, my lord. I’ll be glad to inform them of how you knocked me to the floor and rolled atop me,” she snapped.
“You’re in such a rush to get to the altar, then?”
She let out a laugh which sent chills racing through Preston’s veins. “Not exactly, no.”
What on earth could possibly be so funny? A protracted silence fell upon them, then, which only caused his anxiety to reach new heights.
She took in a loud breath as though attempting to calm herself. “I do believe I might be in a hurry to see you at the altar, though.”
The chill which stole through Preston’s veins was liable to freeze him to the spot.
Catherine Gayle is a bestselling author of Regency-set historical romance. She’s a transplanted Texan living in North Carolina with two extremely spoiled felines. In her spare time, she watches way too much hockey and reality TV, plans fun things to do for the Nephew Monster’s next visit, and performs experiments in the kitchen which are rarely toxic.
Catherine loves to hear from her readers. You can send her an email at [email protected].
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