Cates, Kimberly Read Online Free Page B
Author: Angel's Fall
continued. "Nothing quite so entertaining as a good sword match. But one of the most revered rules of swordsmanship is that you must choose an opponent worthy of you. And, alas, Percival wouldn't be worthy of challenging the most unskilled boy in my salon."
"Bastard! Why are you doing this? This witch stole your woman as well! For God's sake, you should be helping us batter down that infernal door!"
Sabrehawk's weapon flashed, quicksilver, and Percival's sword-stick flew from his hand. The barbarian smiled—the most devastatingly wicked smile of satisfaction Juliet had ever seen. "I never take part in mob actions. Men who run in packs have the most distressing tendency to look like cowards." There was a rumble in the crowd, but not one dared to challenge the flashing brilliance of that sword.
"But your woman—"
Sabrehawk's smile faded into a line of grim intent. "Oh, I damned well intend to reclaim the wench. But I don't intend to do it before an audience, so unless the rest of you have a desire to become likewise acquainted with the sharp edge of my sword, you can go back to your gin and your gambling and find yourself another lady's charms to enjoy."
Juliet quaked, uncertain as to whether she'd rather face the entire mob or this one terrifying man.
"We'll be back for you, we will," Mother Cavendish snarled. "And next time, Juliet Grafton-Moore, we won't be turned away."
"What the devil?" The dark barbarian slashed Juliet a glare of disbelief.
"When you come, I'll still be here," Juliet flung back, trying to still the horrendous trembling of her knees as the mob melted back into the shadows, leaving her alone with the ebony-eyed stranger.
He turned on her with the menacing grace of a panther, dark and deadly, something dangerous in his eyes. "And now, to deal with you," he snarled, slamming his sword back in its scabbard.
"I'm not afraid of you," Juliet lied, chin high. "And I don't care who you've come after. You'll never get your filthy hands on her again!"
"Is that so?" Black eyes speared through her, his fingers flashing out to manacle her arms. "The woman I've come for is you."
Chapter 2
During his years as an adventurer, Adam believed he'd seen everything. Nothing from the goings-on in a sultan's harem to an officer's bedchamber could shock him. But as he glared down into Juliet Grafton-Moore's defiant face, he knew he'd been wrong.
He felt as if the woman had just leveled him with a cannonball to the chest. That nice old man's daughter a harlot? And damned proud of it from the fierce expression on those celestially lovely features.
Hell, what had she done? Danced a jig on her poor besotted papa's grave and tripped merrily off to London to fling herself into a life of sin? No wonder the old vicar had been so bloody desperate for someone to play guardian to her!
And who had been fool enough to be coerced into taking up the damnable position? Adam The Bloody Idiot Slade. The minute the old man had demanded his word of honor, Adam should have dumped him in the mud and ridden like hell in the opposite direction!
A whole blasted year he'd fought off waves of guilt emanating from a conscience he didn't even believe he had, the vicar's haunting, pleading eyes begging him to take care of his fragile little darling.
Fragile darling? Hellfire! Juliet Grafton-Moore was misery on two legs!
"You're a vicar's daughter! How the devil can you be one of the ladies in this place?"
"I'm not." She lifted her chin, those celestial-blue eyes shimmering with passion. "I'm the one who owns it."
Adam reeled. "You can't—I mean, own this place! I can't believe it. What are you saying? That you gathered up your inheritance and trundled yourself off to London to buy this establishment?"
"That's exactly what I did, not that it's any of your business. The money was mine to do with as I wished."
"And you wished to—to do this?" Adam waved a hand at the building.
"I'm good at it. You might say it's—it's a gift."
Adam
"Bastard! Why are you doing this? This witch stole your woman as well! For God's sake, you should be helping us batter down that infernal door!"
Sabrehawk's weapon flashed, quicksilver, and Percival's sword-stick flew from his hand. The barbarian smiled—the most devastatingly wicked smile of satisfaction Juliet had ever seen. "I never take part in mob actions. Men who run in packs have the most distressing tendency to look like cowards." There was a rumble in the crowd, but not one dared to challenge the flashing brilliance of that sword.
"But your woman—"
Sabrehawk's smile faded into a line of grim intent. "Oh, I damned well intend to reclaim the wench. But I don't intend to do it before an audience, so unless the rest of you have a desire to become likewise acquainted with the sharp edge of my sword, you can go back to your gin and your gambling and find yourself another lady's charms to enjoy."
Juliet quaked, uncertain as to whether she'd rather face the entire mob or this one terrifying man.
"We'll be back for you, we will," Mother Cavendish snarled. "And next time, Juliet Grafton-Moore, we won't be turned away."
"What the devil?" The dark barbarian slashed Juliet a glare of disbelief.
"When you come, I'll still be here," Juliet flung back, trying to still the horrendous trembling of her knees as the mob melted back into the shadows, leaving her alone with the ebony-eyed stranger.
He turned on her with the menacing grace of a panther, dark and deadly, something dangerous in his eyes. "And now, to deal with you," he snarled, slamming his sword back in its scabbard.
"I'm not afraid of you," Juliet lied, chin high. "And I don't care who you've come after. You'll never get your filthy hands on her again!"
"Is that so?" Black eyes speared through her, his fingers flashing out to manacle her arms. "The woman I've come for is you."
Chapter 2
During his years as an adventurer, Adam believed he'd seen everything. Nothing from the goings-on in a sultan's harem to an officer's bedchamber could shock him. But as he glared down into Juliet Grafton-Moore's defiant face, he knew he'd been wrong.
He felt as if the woman had just leveled him with a cannonball to the chest. That nice old man's daughter a harlot? And damned proud of it from the fierce expression on those celestially lovely features.
Hell, what had she done? Danced a jig on her poor besotted papa's grave and tripped merrily off to London to fling herself into a life of sin? No wonder the old vicar had been so bloody desperate for someone to play guardian to her!
And who had been fool enough to be coerced into taking up the damnable position? Adam The Bloody Idiot Slade. The minute the old man had demanded his word of honor, Adam should have dumped him in the mud and ridden like hell in the opposite direction!
A whole blasted year he'd fought off waves of guilt emanating from a conscience he didn't even believe he had, the vicar's haunting, pleading eyes begging him to take care of his fragile little darling.
Fragile darling? Hellfire! Juliet Grafton-Moore was misery on two legs!
"You're a vicar's daughter! How the devil can you be one of the ladies in this place?"
"I'm not." She lifted her chin, those celestial-blue eyes shimmering with passion. "I'm the one who owns it."
Adam reeled. "You can't—I mean, own this place! I can't believe it. What are you saying? That you gathered up your inheritance and trundled yourself off to London to buy this establishment?"
"That's exactly what I did, not that it's any of your business. The money was mine to do with as I wished."
"And you wished to—to do this?" Adam waved a hand at the building.
"I'm good at it. You might say it's—it's a gift."
Adam
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