Beauty and the Spymaster
Page 11
“I own eighty dresses,” she said, her voice sleepy.
“Then I’ll build a bigger wardrobe. Two of them.”
“I want a lady’s maid.”
“I’m sure you can afford a dozen,” he teased, but it was true his allowance from the rectory and stipend from the Brotherhood would fall short, and she would have to spend her own money on the luxuries she wanted. He would swallow that bank-account-sized lump of ego when the time came. Her fingers squeezed then rubbed a circle, and a groan escaped his throat. She was going to kill him.
“I am the most vain woman you will ever meet. I wash my face in milk and honey and comb expensive fruit oils into my hair. Every day. I look in a mirror when I pass it and never come down to breakfast unless I am presentable.”
“Who says we’ll ever get out of bed in time for breakfast?”
She chuckled then hummed. “I’m forty-and-six years old.”
That made him two years younger, but he decided to lie. “So am I.”
“The third week of every month I am as grouchy as a badger. And I might weep for no apparent reason.”
“The prior notice is appreciated. Anything else?”
“That’s all. What about you?”
Her hand wandered higher, and he didn’t expect her to spread her fingers wide over his pectoral then squeeze, hard. It was the physiological equivalent of a bugle call, as far as demanding his attention went. Deciding he’d had enough of being played, he did it back to her on the flank, then rubbed his hand over her backside. Her surprised gasp was gratifying.
He thought about asking her to attend church on Sundays, but she would probably do it anyway. Julian also knew she would take good care of his mother. He’d always imagined he would choose an affectionate wife if he ever married, and that was certainly no shortcoming in Helena. That summed up everything he cared about.
“The council will probably ask you to learn Latin, but I have no demands.”
“Oh, you will.”
She’d probably intended the innuendo, but he couldn’t keep up that early in the morning. “You’re right, I do. Kiss me again.”
About the Author
Moriah Densley sees nothing odd at all about keeping both a violin case and a range bag stuffed with pistols in the back seat of her car. They hold up the stack of books in the middle, of course. She enjoys writing about Victorians, assassins, and geeks. Her muses are summoned by the smell of chocolate, usually at odd hours of the night. By day her alter ego is your friendly neighborhood music teacher. She lives in Las Vegas with her husband, four children, and two possibly brain-damaged cats. Moriah has a Master’s degree in music, is a 2012 RWA Golden Heart finalist, 2012 National Reader’s Choice Award winner, and ’12 NRCA “Best First Book” finalist. She’s the author of the bestselling “Rougemont” Historical Romance series and the “Network-One” Paranormal Romance series coming fall of 2014.
For news about upcoming releases and a humorous blog on writing and life as a “mean mom,” visit www.moriahdensley.com. She loves to hear from readers!
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esKape Press
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