by Joan Smith
Sally rounded on him. “I didn’t ask her to leave!”
Monstuart grabbed her hands, tilted his head in an attitude of disbelief, but didn’t contradict her. “Miss Hermitage, I realize I have offended you by my cavalier behavior in the past. Dare I hope—Oh, good, you’re smiling.”
Her lips trembled open in a smile. “You’re incorrigible!”
His hands slid up her arms. “Insensitive, inconsiderate, incoherent, insane, in love.” His harsh face softened to something resembling gentleness. A lambent gleam glowed in his dark eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was husky. “What do you say, Sal?”
“I’ll consider your offer,” she said primly, her eyes dancing with mischief.
Monstuart nodded blandly. “I’ll meet you on the strut tomorrow to tote home the fish. Don’t make it a whale, to teach me a lesson, will you? Shall we say—elevenish? A demain.” He bowed and walked into the hallway.
Sally stood, unable to believe he had actually left. She ran into the hall after him and was pulled into his arms. “I couldn’t wait either,” he said. “I have been wanting to do this since I first laid eyes on you.”
He crushed her against his chest and lowered his lips to hers. Her eyelids fluttered, and beneath the lashes he saw a gleam of uncertainty that thrilled him more than passion. His kiss was gentle, till he had calmed her alarm. When she began to warm to his embrace, it firmed to demand. Soon she was being mauled in a most satisfactory manner. During a brief hiatus in their embrace, Sally pulled away and looked at him from eyes glazed with love.
“I bet you haven’t even spoken to Papa—Sir Darrow, I mean.”
“I’ll stop in at his office and tell him. I have a ring I meant to bring along as well, but I forgot.”
“Monty!”
With a laugh, he pulled a large diamond ring from his pocket and slid it on her finger. “Consider this as a set of manacles.”
“Mellie got a tiara, too. You only had Derwent buy it in order to squander Mama’s money, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did. How else was I to get power over you?”
“I knew it!”
“You read me uncommonly well, Sally.”
She put her arm through his and led him off to tell her mother the news. “Bear in mind, milord. Between my mind-reading and my short temper, you shan’t get away with a thing.”
“I’m under the panther’s paw now.”
He looked remarkably pleased with this perilous position, and so did Miss Hermitage.
Copyright © 1989 by Joan Smith
Originally published by Fawcett Crest (ISBN 0449215881)
Electronically published in 2014 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.