Pale Moon Stalker (The Nymph Trilogy) Read Online Free
Author: Shirl Henke
humming tunelessly as he had so often done on the long rail trip from Bismarck. It seemed a lifetime since she had lived with a man. Will had always been thoughtful about simple courtesies, assisting her in and out of carriages or opening doors for her, but his touch had been gentle and familiar...comfortable.
When Max did the same things, she felt completely different. There was a strange tension between them. She almost thought he was angry with her for some fault she did not understand. Now that they were so close to embarking for his homeland, did he regret marrying a woman of mixed blood?
She checked her appearance again in the mirror. The deep rose silk gown dipped low in front, revealing more of her breasts than she would have chosen as the wife of a clergyman, but it was the height of fashion for ladies of quality—or so the saleswoman had assured her. She wore her mother's cameo on a slim gold chain around her neck.
Since childhood, she had carried the treasured memento with her everywhere, but the engraved gold wedding band from Will she had placed in a shabby black velvet pouch. Removing it from her finger when she made her bargain with Max Stanhope had felt like a betrayal. She glanced down at the heavy gold ring that the Englishman had placed on her hand. There were no words of love etched on the inside of the band. It felt heavy...and cold. Like her new husband's eyes.
A tap on the adjoining door interrupted her troubled thoughts. She walked across the room and opened it. Max looked every inch the English lord in a dark blue wool suit, his white shirtfront winking with emerald studs. His tall, lean body was made to wear custom tailoring. He had been to a barber and his curly hair was fashionably tamed, the sideburns palest blond against his bronzed skin. For an unbidden moment, she caught herself wondering if his body was as pale as his hair. Appalled at the thought, she quickly suppressed it.
"You look quite splendid, m'lord," she said with an insouciant curtsey.
"Even more so, you," he managed as his gaze swept from her lush black hair, braided in an intricate crown atop her head, to the soft curves of her hips revealed by the tempting concoction in silk that clung so lovingly to her body. His attention was drawn back to the deep vee of her cleavage where a simple oval of carved ivory nestled. Fortunate cameo! "Is that a family heirloom?" When she reached up and fingered the cameo, he felt his throat tighten, wanting desperately to touch those soft mounds.
"It belonged to my mother. The only thing she managed to hide from her Pawnee captors."
Max struggled to find his voice, then said, "It's as lovely as you."
* * * *
Sky was delighted by Delmonico's. After sharing a bottle of excellent champagne, they both began to relax. He enjoyed watching her study the haughty socialites and powerful Wall Street businessmen surrounding them. "Many of the men and women you see here are as powerful as any earl or duke in England."
Sky made a moue of distaste. "They exploit Indian land and prey on the poor of every race."
He smiled at her. "You would be a daunting reformer. Even the likes of Gould and Fisk might back down if you jabbed your Winchester in their fat guts."
"A thought worthy of consideration," she said dryly. "But not in such a lovely place. The meal was incredible. Thank you, Max, for bringing me here."
"My pleasure," he said, and it was, indeed. He signaled a waiter for the check.
Outside, the night was warm and the moon full when they stood on the street awaiting a hack. When an open carriage approached, he hailed it.
The driver, a small fellow with slicked-back dark hair and an ingratiating smile, asked, "Would you folks enjoy a ride through Central Park? Perfect night for it."
"I'd appreciate some fresh air," she said to Max. "It's been seven years since I lived in a large city and I don't like the smell or closed-in feeling of being surrounded by so much brick and stone."
"The park it is,
When Max did the same things, she felt completely different. There was a strange tension between them. She almost thought he was angry with her for some fault she did not understand. Now that they were so close to embarking for his homeland, did he regret marrying a woman of mixed blood?
She checked her appearance again in the mirror. The deep rose silk gown dipped low in front, revealing more of her breasts than she would have chosen as the wife of a clergyman, but it was the height of fashion for ladies of quality—or so the saleswoman had assured her. She wore her mother's cameo on a slim gold chain around her neck.
Since childhood, she had carried the treasured memento with her everywhere, but the engraved gold wedding band from Will she had placed in a shabby black velvet pouch. Removing it from her finger when she made her bargain with Max Stanhope had felt like a betrayal. She glanced down at the heavy gold ring that the Englishman had placed on her hand. There were no words of love etched on the inside of the band. It felt heavy...and cold. Like her new husband's eyes.
A tap on the adjoining door interrupted her troubled thoughts. She walked across the room and opened it. Max looked every inch the English lord in a dark blue wool suit, his white shirtfront winking with emerald studs. His tall, lean body was made to wear custom tailoring. He had been to a barber and his curly hair was fashionably tamed, the sideburns palest blond against his bronzed skin. For an unbidden moment, she caught herself wondering if his body was as pale as his hair. Appalled at the thought, she quickly suppressed it.
"You look quite splendid, m'lord," she said with an insouciant curtsey.
"Even more so, you," he managed as his gaze swept from her lush black hair, braided in an intricate crown atop her head, to the soft curves of her hips revealed by the tempting concoction in silk that clung so lovingly to her body. His attention was drawn back to the deep vee of her cleavage where a simple oval of carved ivory nestled. Fortunate cameo! "Is that a family heirloom?" When she reached up and fingered the cameo, he felt his throat tighten, wanting desperately to touch those soft mounds.
"It belonged to my mother. The only thing she managed to hide from her Pawnee captors."
Max struggled to find his voice, then said, "It's as lovely as you."
* * * *
Sky was delighted by Delmonico's. After sharing a bottle of excellent champagne, they both began to relax. He enjoyed watching her study the haughty socialites and powerful Wall Street businessmen surrounding them. "Many of the men and women you see here are as powerful as any earl or duke in England."
Sky made a moue of distaste. "They exploit Indian land and prey on the poor of every race."
He smiled at her. "You would be a daunting reformer. Even the likes of Gould and Fisk might back down if you jabbed your Winchester in their fat guts."
"A thought worthy of consideration," she said dryly. "But not in such a lovely place. The meal was incredible. Thank you, Max, for bringing me here."
"My pleasure," he said, and it was, indeed. He signaled a waiter for the check.
Outside, the night was warm and the moon full when they stood on the street awaiting a hack. When an open carriage approached, he hailed it.
The driver, a small fellow with slicked-back dark hair and an ingratiating smile, asked, "Would you folks enjoy a ride through Central Park? Perfect night for it."
"I'd appreciate some fresh air," she said to Max. "It's been seven years since I lived in a large city and I don't like the smell or closed-in feeling of being surrounded by so much brick and stone."
"The park it is,
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