Page 59 of Thief of the Ton
“Hello there, little fellow! What might you be doing out in the open?”
Little fellow?He was hardly that. His athletic, muscular physique meant he’d had his pick of the courtesans last summer, and Poseidon was a good seventeen hands.
“It’s not safe there,” the voice continued.
He glanced around, but there was no one to be seen.
Laughter echoed through the forest. “Dear chap! There’s nothing to fear fromme. But I fear you’re in danger of being eaten by another.”
Peregrine’s skin tightened in recognition.
That voice—he’d know it anywhere.
It washer.
He squeezed Poseidon’s flanks and headed deeper into the wood, until the owner of the voice came into view.
Crouched on the ground, holding a stick, in the middle of a clearing, she seemed to be talking to a clump of bracken. A beam of sunlight illuminated her with a soft, golden glow. Wisps of hair, in disarray, formed a halo about her head.
Had he not recognized her voice, he might have mistaken her for a wood nymph—a faerie creature illuminated in an ethereal light.
Sweet Lord—since when had he become so poetic? Whitcombe would laugh his arse off if he said such a thing at White’s.
But here, surrounded by nature, with the loveliest woman he’d ever seen—such words didn’t seem out of place.
“Miss de Grande.”
She looked up, her eyes widening, then she frowned and held her finger to her lips.
“Shush! You’ll scare him.”
He swung one leg over the saddle and dismounted. “Scare who?”
“My friend.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Well, I’m glad you’ve clearedthatup.”
She rolled her eyes, then rose, slowly, to her feet and held up her hand.
“Don’t come any closer—I don’t want him coming to any harm.”
“Who?”
She pointed toward her feet. “The adder.”
His stomach knotted and he stepped back. “The—what?”
“It’s a snake.”
“I know damned well what an adder is,” he said, “and you’re worried aboutitgetting harmed? Back away, you fool—you’re in danger of getting bitten!”
She placed a hand on her hip in the manner of an exasperated nursemaid. “He’s perfectly harmless,” she said. “I see adders all the time at home.”
“Then it’s a wonder you’re still alive,” he said. “Why the devil are you playing with an adder?”
“Nowyou’rebeing a fool, Lord Marlow,” she said. “I’m not playing. The poor creature’s more afraid of us than we are of him. Out here he’s exposed to predators—I was merely trying to shepherd him to the safety of the bracken.”
“What if it bites you?”
