Page 6 of Never a Bride
She tried to scream, but could summon no air as she was bounced against his shoulder repeatedly as he ascended a set of stairs. The din faded, and she heard him whistling merrily, of all things, as if he hadn’t just escaped death and kidnapped a noblewoman.
Emmeline heard a door open; she felt the sudden warmth of a chamber and smelled smoke, and the not-unpleasant scent of this man. The spurs on his boots jingled as he walked across the surprisingly spacious floor. Just as she began to pound his back, he lifted her off his shoulder and dropped her onto her back on a bed. She came up on her elbows with an angry cry, and her hood fell back.
Sir Alexander was leaning over her, smiling contentedly, and was about to put his hands on either side of her when he saw her face. He froze, and she felt a degree of triumph when he slowly sank back on his haunches and continued to stare at her.
“Well, what do we have here?”
Chapter 3
Alex stared at the woman sprawled angrily across his bed. She was wearing fine garments, and a ridiculous little hat with a feather now sadly bent.
“Obviously you are a cut above the average strumpet,” he said, and grinned at the look of outrage on her face. “The garments are very nice—a fair approximation of a lady’s wardrobe.”
Her mouth moved, but no sound emerged.
“But you’re not showing enough of the goods.”
He reached for the clasp of her cloak and she slapped him away.
“Very well, we’ll handle business matters first. I have ample money—in fact, I’m well endowed in many areas.” He gave her a lazy grin, thinking that she would be pleasant to look at if she smiled.
She suddenly sat up and with surprising strength, gave him a shove. He fell back on his ass and couldn’t help laughing which seemed to annoy her.
She found her voice. “I, sir, am no woman of loose morals.”
“Lovely pronunciation, that. Where did you learn such mimicry?”
She tried to get to her feet, but he came up on his knees to block her. When he saw a touch of fear in her eyes, he leaned back. He was hardly going to harm the wench. The fight had wiped away his drink-induced haze, and he now remembered that she had known his name.
“You seem familiar to me. Have we done this before?” he asked curiously. “And is there a husband involved?”
Perched on his bed, she straightened her skirts, lifted her petite chin in the air, and said firmly, “I am Lady Emmeline Prescott. I am here to deliver a letter to you from my sister—but I am loath to do so now.”
Alex suddenly placed her; she had scowled at him from across the hall every moment he danced with Lady Blythe—the object of his wager with Edmund. He got to his feet and gave her a full courtly bow.
“Forgive me for not recognizing you, Lady Emmeline. We’ve never been formally introduced.”
“Nevertheless, your treatment of any woman should be better than this,” she said, rising to her feet.
“Ah, now I have done myself a disservice in your eyes. Forgive a man, for we are the weaker sex, are we not?”
Swiftly he caught her hand and brought it to his lips. Though she was all stiffness and propriety, her fingers trembled in his, her cheeks reddened, and the barest tease of perfume wafted over him. He was intrigued. She was taller than the average female, but her cloak hid everything else. For curiosity’s sake alone, he wanted to divest her of it, because he couldn’t remember her figure from the party.
But again, there was the wager. “You say you have a letter for me from Lady Blythe?”
“At least you remember her name,” Emmeline said dryly.
“How could I forget someone as charming as your sister? She quite captured my interest.”
That frown of hers could sear a lesser man. He walked to the fire and rubbed his hands against the chill. Lady Emmeline was obviously out of place in this less-than-elegant chamber. But instead of succumbing to hysterics, she kept herself firmly under control, as if he were merely a naughty schoolboy. Somehow, that offended him.
Emmeline could not believe that she was alone in a tavern’s lodgings with a man—a man with few morals who consorted with fallen women, yet flirted with young innocents. Why had she even told him about the letter?
She studied him as boldly as he did her. His head almost brushed the chamber’s low ceiling beams, and he seemed as at ease here in Southwark as he’d been at a court party. The heated stare of his dark eyes made her want to cover herself, as if she did not already wear layers of garments beneath her cloak. For a moment she wondered if he was flirting with her, but she knew he wasn’t. He was trying to unnerve her, to play his little-boy game of Dare. Somehow, she threatened him, and that was a good feeling.
“Sir Alexander, who were those men who accosted you?”
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “I know not, my lady. They never spoke a word to me, just fought and ran. They were probably thieves.”
