he entered the same room, when he remained impervious to her. She might as well be a matronly relative. No…he probably would treat matronly relatives with far more regard than he showed her.
Sophie stammered her pardon and scurried down another aisle. Emmaline wasn’t certain if her friend was either: one, allowing her time alone with her betrothed or whether two, she sought escape before he discovered their scandalous reading habits. Which reminded her…
Emmaline made one more attempt to retrieve the work, but alas her betrothed had the reflexes of a lightning strike. He intercepted her efforts, and rescued the volume, holding it aloft, well beyond her reach.
A single, strand had escaped Emmaline’s neat chignon during her exertions and hung over her brow. She blew the lock back and folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll take that, my lord.”
Her eyes were drawn to the slow smile that quirked one corner of his lips. Drat the man. He seemed far too amused by this exchange. She briefly contemplated snatching the volume from his hand and dismissing him without a further word. Based on his earlier speed, any effort she made to retrieve it would prove ineffectual.
“Hmmm, what have we here?” he wondered, and lowered the book to eye level. His smile widened and he revealed a row of perfectly white even teeth.
Of course he would have perfect teeth , she thought, promptly snapping her mouth shut. She’d not allow him to see her own imperfect row, the way her front left tooth angled slightly over its right counterpart. Her brother had forever teased her over it, and it had always been a source of insecurity. She could only imagine what her betrothed would think about it.
Drake glanced at the title.
At any other place, at any other time, Emmaline would relish the levity of their exchange. Not, however, at this particular moment. Her reading preferences were an exceedingly intimate part of herself that she did not want to share. He very well may be her betrothed, but he was still a veritable stranger.
He blinked several times. “ This is what you’re reading?”
Emmaline did not like his emphasis on the word, this. “I’ll take it now, my lord,” she said. She held her hand out, and waited for him to turn it over.
Drake ignored her and opened the front flap of the book. His eyes scanned the words , and then snapped in her direction “This is what you are reading?” There was a measure of haughty disdain in his words.
Annoyance blossomed inside her chest at the way Drake kept repeating himself. “You needn’t sound so…so…incredulous.”
Drake closed the book and shook his head. “Gothic novels. This is where your interests lie.”
Rules of etiquette be demmed, Emmaline snatched the volume from his hands. “I do not appreciate your condescension. Nor do I care for the way you keep repeating yourself.” Somewhere along the way, his words had ceased to be a question and had become a statement.
Drake opened his mouth to speak but Emmaline continued before he had the chance. “How terribly stuffy of you, my lord. It is difficult to imagine that you, who’ve had scores of mistresses littering the better part of England, should be so scandalized by a mere piece of literature. Your reaction is simply staggering.”
Drake advanced a step in her direction and Emmaline took a step back. There was something overwhelmingly masculine and at the same time predatory in his hooded expression.
“Stuffy?”
His words washed over her like a silken caress. She told her brain to remind her head to nod. “Yes, stuffy.”
Before she even suspected his intentions, he again relieved her of her copy.
The work under his scrutiny was Glenarvon by Caroline Lamb. Emmaline had always had a love for Gothic novels; however, this one was even more intriguing than most, for it told the story of doomed love between a married Lady Calantha and a dashing Irish Revolutionary. The work was not even a thinly veiled disguise
Sophie stammered her pardon and scurried down another aisle. Emmaline wasn’t certain if her friend was either: one, allowing her time alone with her betrothed or whether two, she sought escape before he discovered their scandalous reading habits. Which reminded her…
Emmaline made one more attempt to retrieve the work, but alas her betrothed had the reflexes of a lightning strike. He intercepted her efforts, and rescued the volume, holding it aloft, well beyond her reach.
A single, strand had escaped Emmaline’s neat chignon during her exertions and hung over her brow. She blew the lock back and folded her arms across her chest. “I’ll take that, my lord.”
Her eyes were drawn to the slow smile that quirked one corner of his lips. Drat the man. He seemed far too amused by this exchange. She briefly contemplated snatching the volume from his hand and dismissing him without a further word. Based on his earlier speed, any effort she made to retrieve it would prove ineffectual.
“Hmmm, what have we here?” he wondered, and lowered the book to eye level. His smile widened and he revealed a row of perfectly white even teeth.
Of course he would have perfect teeth , she thought, promptly snapping her mouth shut. She’d not allow him to see her own imperfect row, the way her front left tooth angled slightly over its right counterpart. Her brother had forever teased her over it, and it had always been a source of insecurity. She could only imagine what her betrothed would think about it.
Drake glanced at the title.
At any other place, at any other time, Emmaline would relish the levity of their exchange. Not, however, at this particular moment. Her reading preferences were an exceedingly intimate part of herself that she did not want to share. He very well may be her betrothed, but he was still a veritable stranger.
He blinked several times. “ This is what you’re reading?”
Emmaline did not like his emphasis on the word, this. “I’ll take it now, my lord,” she said. She held her hand out, and waited for him to turn it over.
Drake ignored her and opened the front flap of the book. His eyes scanned the words , and then snapped in her direction “This is what you are reading?” There was a measure of haughty disdain in his words.
Annoyance blossomed inside her chest at the way Drake kept repeating himself. “You needn’t sound so…so…incredulous.”
Drake closed the book and shook his head. “Gothic novels. This is where your interests lie.”
Rules of etiquette be demmed, Emmaline snatched the volume from his hands. “I do not appreciate your condescension. Nor do I care for the way you keep repeating yourself.” Somewhere along the way, his words had ceased to be a question and had become a statement.
Drake opened his mouth to speak but Emmaline continued before he had the chance. “How terribly stuffy of you, my lord. It is difficult to imagine that you, who’ve had scores of mistresses littering the better part of England, should be so scandalized by a mere piece of literature. Your reaction is simply staggering.”
Drake advanced a step in her direction and Emmaline took a step back. There was something overwhelmingly masculine and at the same time predatory in his hooded expression.
“Stuffy?”
His words washed over her like a silken caress. She told her brain to remind her head to nod. “Yes, stuffy.”
Before she even suspected his intentions, he again relieved her of her copy.
The work under his scrutiny was Glenarvon by Caroline Lamb. Emmaline had always had a love for Gothic novels; however, this one was even more intriguing than most, for it told the story of doomed love between a married Lady Calantha and a dashing Irish Revolutionary. The work was not even a thinly veiled disguise
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