question. After tonight, she most certainly would never see him
again. A merchant would never be allowed into the ballrooms of the haute ton . Even if he was deliriously rich, which he obviously wasn’t, given the condition
of his equipage, the upper echelon of the beau monde, to which she had been born,
simply did not intermingle with men of trade.
Her adventurous nature awakened. No, she didn’t intend to ever marry, but…what would
be wrong with kissing a handsome, intriguing stranger she’d never see again?
Everything inside her soared and spiraled and exploded into sparkly stars at wondering.
Again, her gaze settled on his mouth, which slowly, as if it read her mind, turned
up at the corners, making her catch her breath.
At that moment, the carriage executed a sudden turn and tilted steeply, as if on two
wheels. Daphne toppled, the whole of her weight crushing into Cormack. His arms came
round her, seizing her and holding her in place against his chest. The carriage bounced
down again and continued on, to the sound of Jackson cursing at another driver, but
Cormack didn’t release her. How she wished she wasn’t wearing the coat, which smelled
of damp wool. He, on the other hand, smelled delicious, like rainwater and soap.
“How unexpected,” he murmured, his mouth so close his breath feathered across her
lips. “But not unwelcome.”
“No,” she whispered. “Not…unwelcome.”
Just then the carriage jerked to a stop and a hard rap sounded against the roof.
A low growl emitted from Cormack’s throat. “What a pity.”
Gently, he released her to push aside the window curtain.
“I’ll be just a moment.” He slid from the bench, a vision of crouched male splendor
and shining boots. With a turn of the handle, he disappeared onto the street.
Unwilling to release him from her sight, Daphne scrambled across the bench and lifted
the curtain. Just a few feet away, Cormack stood like a giant in the midst of a street
stall crowded with clothing, hats, and shoes. He gestured to the shop owner, clearly
attempting to describe her. Apparently she had breasts. Daphne covered her mouth,
smothering a smile. Very nice breasts, based upon Cormack’s raised eyebrows and sideways
grin. The shop owner chuckled and set about searching his collection.
Within moments, Cormack returned.
“I hope it all fits.” He thrust toward her a gray flannel gown, a chemise and a petticoat,
and a pair of shoes. She clasped them to her breast, bewildered.
He had purchased several items for himself as well. Once the carriage was again in
motion, he tugged his shirttails from his breeches. Oh, no. Daphne bit into her lower lip, fixated, as he wrenched his shirt over his head. Shadows
and light played on his damp skin. Daphne inhaled sharply, shocked, her mouth gone
instantly dry. But she didn’t look away.
She’d never seen anything like him, nothing real and in the flesh. He could have served as a model for the Achilles statue she’d seen
last week in the vestibule of the British Gallery. The only items missing were a helmet,
battle ax, and sword. Oh, and he was still wearing those breeches.
Not for long apparently. Dropping the sodden shirt to the floor, he unfastened the
placket at his crotch. Fascinated, she glimpsed a dark spiral of hair on his lower
abdomen that disappeared beneath the buff wool of his garment. He hooked his thumbs
inside at the hips and—
She must have emitted some sound, because he looked up suddenly.
He flashed a grin, one that made her heart turn over inside her chest.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Put the clothes on. They aren’t perfectly dry, being
that I bought them off the street, but they are far drier and warmer than what you’ve
got on. But first, mind giving my boot a tug?”
He presented her with the flat of his foot.
After a moment’s hesitation, she grasped the leather by the heel, and tugged it free.
She’d
again. A merchant would never be allowed into the ballrooms of the haute ton . Even if he was deliriously rich, which he obviously wasn’t, given the condition
of his equipage, the upper echelon of the beau monde, to which she had been born,
simply did not intermingle with men of trade.
Her adventurous nature awakened. No, she didn’t intend to ever marry, but…what would
be wrong with kissing a handsome, intriguing stranger she’d never see again?
Everything inside her soared and spiraled and exploded into sparkly stars at wondering.
Again, her gaze settled on his mouth, which slowly, as if it read her mind, turned
up at the corners, making her catch her breath.
At that moment, the carriage executed a sudden turn and tilted steeply, as if on two
wheels. Daphne toppled, the whole of her weight crushing into Cormack. His arms came
round her, seizing her and holding her in place against his chest. The carriage bounced
down again and continued on, to the sound of Jackson cursing at another driver, but
Cormack didn’t release her. How she wished she wasn’t wearing the coat, which smelled
of damp wool. He, on the other hand, smelled delicious, like rainwater and soap.
“How unexpected,” he murmured, his mouth so close his breath feathered across her
lips. “But not unwelcome.”
“No,” she whispered. “Not…unwelcome.”
Just then the carriage jerked to a stop and a hard rap sounded against the roof.
A low growl emitted from Cormack’s throat. “What a pity.”
Gently, he released her to push aside the window curtain.
“I’ll be just a moment.” He slid from the bench, a vision of crouched male splendor
and shining boots. With a turn of the handle, he disappeared onto the street.
Unwilling to release him from her sight, Daphne scrambled across the bench and lifted
the curtain. Just a few feet away, Cormack stood like a giant in the midst of a street
stall crowded with clothing, hats, and shoes. He gestured to the shop owner, clearly
attempting to describe her. Apparently she had breasts. Daphne covered her mouth,
smothering a smile. Very nice breasts, based upon Cormack’s raised eyebrows and sideways
grin. The shop owner chuckled and set about searching his collection.
Within moments, Cormack returned.
“I hope it all fits.” He thrust toward her a gray flannel gown, a chemise and a petticoat,
and a pair of shoes. She clasped them to her breast, bewildered.
He had purchased several items for himself as well. Once the carriage was again in
motion, he tugged his shirttails from his breeches. Oh, no. Daphne bit into her lower lip, fixated, as he wrenched his shirt over his head. Shadows
and light played on his damp skin. Daphne inhaled sharply, shocked, her mouth gone
instantly dry. But she didn’t look away.
She’d never seen anything like him, nothing real and in the flesh. He could have served as a model for the Achilles statue she’d seen
last week in the vestibule of the British Gallery. The only items missing were a helmet,
battle ax, and sword. Oh, and he was still wearing those breeches.
Not for long apparently. Dropping the sodden shirt to the floor, he unfastened the
placket at his crotch. Fascinated, she glimpsed a dark spiral of hair on his lower
abdomen that disappeared beneath the buff wool of his garment. He hooked his thumbs
inside at the hips and—
She must have emitted some sound, because he looked up suddenly.
He flashed a grin, one that made her heart turn over inside her chest.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Put the clothes on. They aren’t perfectly dry, being
that I bought them off the street, but they are far drier and warmer than what you’ve
got on. But first, mind giving my boot a tug?”
He presented her with the flat of his foot.
After a moment’s hesitation, she grasped the leather by the heel, and tugged it free.
She’d
Similar Books
