No. She had a job to do.
“I’m in Yorkshire to draw the dales,” she said into the charged silence. “I’ve stopped at The Golden Lion in the village, and they assured me Castle Auldale is as ruined and picturesque as old abandoned castles come. ’Tis a pity I only draw landscapes. You are equally picturesque.”
His eyebrows rose, and he crossed his arms, but still he didn’t speak. Just watched her with that expression, which was confused by the perpetual twist of his lips.
“What? Surely you have women fainting in your path wherever you go? You cannot be ignorant of your physical appeal?”
His arms fell back to his sides. He looked deliciously nonplussed. Which meant she had the upper hand. Which meant he was just where she needed him. Intrigued.
“Who are you?” he said, the words hissing through the air.
“Angelina Whitcombe, and, as I said, I’m traveling for the scenery.”
“Traveling alone?”
A prickle of awareness awakened the skin at the back of her neck.
“Yes, in fact, I am.”
His gaze ran down her body, slowly, purposefully, as if he wanted to make certain that she knew exactly what he was looking at.
“A lady never travels alone.”
The best lies were half-truths, so she smiled brilliantly at him.
“Darling, I don’t have much of a reputation left to lose.”
“I don’t have much of a reputation left to lose.”
He believed her. He just didn’t believe that devil-may-care, forward façade. No, there was the hint of something much deeper, and much darker, beneath his intruder’s flippant words.
Not that it mattered.
He wanted this Whitcombe woman out of his home, away from the solitude he’d so carefully cultivated. If he’d wanted human company, he would be living in the manor house half a mile across the dale.
“But I do,” he said at last, reaching down to pick up her leather-bound sketchbook. “So I must ask you to leave.” He held the book out to her, tempted to open it and see just what she had been sketching during her tour of the English countryside. She snatched it away.
“I suppose I should be getting back before it grows dark. I embarked on my walk rather late in the day.” But instead of leaving, she swept past him toward the archway that led farther into the keep. “What are you doing in here?”
He strode after her, shaking his head. He grabbed her by the elbow before she could leave the room.
She stepped back as if he’d pulled on her harder than he had, and all of a sudden an armful of soft, warm woman pressed against him, blonde hair tickling his nose.
He took a deep breath, which was a mistake. The scent of muguet and spring air infiltrated him, clouded his thoughts.
“You have the advantage of me, sir,” she whispered, her voice low, seductive. “If we are to touch so intimately, I should at least know your name.”
“John,” he choked out, releasing her as if she were a flame. He did not wish to be intimate. “John,” she repeated. She made his name sound like a word lovers whispered in the dark of night. She turned to face him. “What secrets are you hiding?”
Secrets. He had no secrets. Everything about his life could be found in the local church records, in the army register, in the files of the Board of Ordnance.
He didn’t know who this woman was, but he knew she was dangerous. He knew she was taking him away from the work he wanted to do, the work that was helping him, saving him. She was the outside world seeping in.
“Out,” he demanded. “Now.”
He must have looked frightening. God knew he had scared enough children with this scarred countenance of his. She, too, had gasped when she’d first seen him. Now she winced and retreated.
Good. She should think him dangerous. What woman in her right mind would stand in the middle of a ruined castle talking to a half-clothed stranger? He was a man, stronger than she was. He could rape her, kill her. No one would ever know.
He closed his eyes tight against memories. Against the deafening sound of metal striking metal, wordless battle cries, and explosions. Against the smell of blood and gunpowder.
She was walking away, the soft soles of her shoes tapping against the stone floor. He felt her passage like a sweet spring breeze, the scent of lilies cutting through his mind.
He opened his eyes. Through the speckled, gauzy midafternoon light streaming from the high windows, he caught the last flutter of her blue cloak as she turned the corner, the ribbons of the bonnet in her right hand streaming behind.
Jasper whined.
John looked down. The dog kicked its legs, begging for attention.
“All right, Jasper,” he said, bending down to pat the dog’s flank firmly. “That was unexpected, but it doesn’t change anything. We have work to do and only a few hours of daylight left.”
At the moment, work was repairing the kitchens.
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from InterVamption copyright © 2011 by Kristin Miller.
Excerpt from Night of Fire copyright © 2012 by Nico Rosso.
Excerpt from Storm Bound copyright © 2012 by Alice Brilmayer.
Excerpt from The Short and Fascinating Tale of Angelina Whitcombe copyright © 2012 by Sabrina Darby.
LAST VAMP STANDING. Copyright © 2012 by Kristin Miller. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition SEPTEMBER 2012 ISBN: 9780062207845
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062207852
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