Page 1 of The Moonstone Marquess
Chapter One
Moonstone Landing
Cornwall, England
July 1818
Cormac Stockwell, Marquessof Burness, stumbled out of his newly acquired seaside home in Moonstone Landing, his throat parched and his shirt unbuttoned. He groaned as his gaze met blinding sunlight and pain seared through his brandy-soaked head. “Blast it, Melrose. Why did you summon me out here at the break of day?”
“My lord,” his head butler said in a tone that revealed his disapproval of the orgy that took place last night—and was still going on, if one considered the naked bodies littering his parlor, “it is noon.”
“Have you no shame?” A young woman with a melodic voice dismounted her horse and strode across the courtyard toward him. Without so much as a greeting, she launched into a diatribe. “You are a disgrace. How could you be so depraved…wonk, wonk, wonk…debauched…wonk, wonk, wonk…vile…”
He blinked and tried to focus on the little harpy with an angel’s voice, but it was hard to do while she was talking so fast and his head was splitting. He could hardly keep up with her words. It was all a buzzing blur. “Never, in all my days…wonk, wonk, wonk…amazed you still have a functioning organ left in your body…wonk, wonk, wonk…”
He glanced down at his trousers.
Well, that organ was working perfectly fine.
Not that he intended to advise her of that fact.
Indeed, not. It was a wonder he had managed to properly button his falls, something not easily done when drunk and functioning only with one arm. As for his shirt, a formal one for evening wear, he’d merely tossed it on and left it open and untucked to flap in the wind.
It was the best he could do on short notice.
If she did not like it, she could leave.
He blinked again, intending to move his gaze upward to focus on her face as they stood in the brilliant sunshine, a soft sea breeze whirling around them while she continued to excoriate him for his bad behavior. But it took too much effort to move his gaze off her breasts when they were swelling magnificently as she continued her scathing rebuke. “Reprehensible…wonk, wonk, wonk…vile…”
She was repeating herself now. He was certain she had already referred to him as vile.
So what if he was? What business was it of hers how he chose to destroy himself?
Who was she, anyway?
Miss Temple of Virtue?
Well, she did have the body of a goddess.
Finally, as the sun disappeared behind a passing cloud, he managed a good look at her face.
Blessed saints.
Not only the body of a goddess, but the face of one as well.
Softest pink lips.
Eyes a glistening bluish green…or were they greenish blue? Well, it did not matter. They sparkled and were the color of aquamarines, exquisite eyes to steal any man’s breath away.
Her hair was dark, and several curls had blown loose in the wind to flick upon her sweetly blushing cheeks.
No, she wasn’t sweetly blushing.
She was mad as hell and looked like she wanted to punch him.
She took another deep breath into her magnificent lungs. “And I will never…mark my words…ever…wonk, wonk, wonk…”
Gad, would she never stop railing at him?
