“You seem to be under a misapprehension,” she said conversationally.
She started to set the tray on the little table beside the bed, but there were shards scattered in an arc away from the table, comprised of what had once been an ugly china clock and a matching pair of ceramic pugs. Added as it was to the previous tea things she’d brought up before Lord Vale’s visit, it was beginning to be quite a pile.
blazing black eyes.
He leaned so close she felt his breath across her lips. The muscles of his leg shifted under her hip, reminding her of her precarious position. His hands tightened around her upper arms, holding her prisoner. “I may indeed be a nasty, bitter, and sarcastic man, madam, but let me assure you that my humanity is more than intact.”
Beatrice’s breath stopped like a rabbit caught in the open before a wolf. She could feel the heat of his body coming off him in waves. Her bosom was nearly pressed to his chest, and to make matters worse, that sparkling black gaze fell to her mouth.
As she watched, his lips parted and his eyelids drooped as he growled softly, “And I will use any means at my disposal to win this war.”
So mesmerized was she by the wicked intent in his eyes that she started when the door to the bedroom opened. Lord Hope abruptly released her arms. He was staring behind her at the intruder. For a fleeting second, she thought she saw something like joy cross his face, but so suddenly did it disappear that perhaps she was mistaken.
In any case, both his countenance and his voice were stony when he spoke.
“Renshaw.”
Chapter Three
“Come, sir,” cried the Goblin King, “I’ll give you fifty gold coins for that sword. Tell me you’ll agree.”
“I fear I cannot,” Longsword replied.
“Then surely you’ll part with it for one hundred gold coins? It is but an old and rusting sword, and you can buy twenty more the same or better for that price.”
At this Longsword laughed. “Sir, I’ll not sell you my sword for any price you name, and I’ll tell you why: to relinquish this sword would cost me my very life, for it and I are bound together magically.”
“Ah, if that is the case,” the Goblin King said craftily, “will you sell me a lock of your hair for one penny?”
—from Longsword
For seven years, Reynaud had thought about what he would say and how he would feel when he saw Jasper Renshaw again. The questions he would ask, the explanations he would demand. And now, now that the moment was here, he searched within himself and felt… nothing.
“It’s Vale now,” the man standing by the door said. His face was a little more lined, his eyes slightly more sad, but otherwise he was the same man Reynaud had played with as a boy. The same man he’d bought a commission with. The same man he’d considered his best friend.
The man who’d left him for dead in a savage foreign land.
“You attained the title, then?” Reynaud asked.
Vale nodded. He still stood just inside the door, hat in hand. He stared at Reynaud as if trying to decipher the thoughts of a wild beast.
Miss Corning straightened from where he’d pulled her across his lap. So intent was he on Vale that he’d almost forgotten her presence. He made a belated grab for her hand but was too late. She’d moved away from the bed and was beyond his reach. He’d have to wait for another time when she might step unwarily close again.
She cleared her throat. “I believe we met once at one of your mother’s garden parties, Lord Vale.”
Vale’s gaze jerked to her, and he blinked before a wide smile spread across his face. He bowed extravagantly. “Forgive me, gentle lady. You are?”
“My cousin, Miss Corning,” Reynaud growled. No need to tell Vale the connection was not a blood one—he’d make what claim he could.
Vale’s thick eyebrows rose. “I never knew you had a female cousin.”
Reynaud smiled thinly. “She’s newly discovered.”
Miss Corning looked between the men, her brows knitted, clearly confused. “Shall I send for tea?”
“Yes, please,” Vale said, while at the same time Reynaud shook his head. “No.”
Vale looked at him, his smile gone.