The Tiger's Bride. Merline Lovelace

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       Chapter Two

      At the sound of her low, musical chuckle, Jamie Kerrick felt his jaw tighten ominously. He was in no mood for laughter.

      “You have a damned peculiar sense of humor, Miss Abernathy,” he growled.

      She nodded. “I fear you’re right. I’ve been told on more than one occasion that it’s my worst fault Or one of the worst,” she amended with a small smile.

      Jamie glared at her, unable to comprehend her levity. If the truth were told, he was having difficulty comprehending much of anything at this moment. His temples pounded from cup after cup of syrupy-sweet plum wine and his temper tugged at a short rein from hours of fruitless negotiation with the mandarin who controlled the port. More to the point, his loins ached in anticipation of what normally occurred in this chamber.

      From the instant he’d turned and discovered that the woman waiting for him wasn’t his usual companion, his tenuous hold on his temper had grown more uncertain with each passing moment.

      He’d identified her immediately, of course. There weren’t many young Englishwomen in Macao with her generous physical endowments, and damned few who’d have the audacity to track him down to the House of the Dancing Blossoms. She was certainly her father’s daughter, Jamie thought sourly.

      He’d met The Reverend Mr. Abernathy briefly the last time he was in port, just before his first mate pitched the missionary overboard. The crew of the Phoenix hadn’t taken kindly to the wild-eyed zealot who’d stormed aboard and tried to point out the error of their admittedly loose ways. Especially since they’d just completed a rough, three-month voyage and were far more interested in boat girls than baptisms.

      Jamie had glimpsed the man’s daughter for the first time just a few days ago. She’d been taking the air on the Praya Grande with a lively young lad at the time. At first he’d mistaken her for a governess, given her dowdy dress and sturdy, no-nonsense walking boots. But even the unadorned green gown couldn’t disguise her noble feminine attributes. A man would have to be blind or dead from the neck down not to appreciate that prominent bosom, and Jamie was neither. The information that she was the missionary’s spinster daughter had quickly killed his incipient interest, however. He much preferred willing, experienced matrons or the delightful residents of the House of the Dancing Blossoms to dedicated, desiccated virgins.

      Seeing her now at close quarters, Jamie wondered if he should have pursued his initial interest. Miss Abernathy possessed a mouth as full and generous as a man could wish for, a slender nose, and eyes that looked out on the world with a disconcerting directness. Fringed by thick, black lashes, their brown irises flecked with gold, they reminded Jamie of fine sherry poured from a crystal decanter. At this moment, they glowed with the remnants of her surprising, irritating, and wholly unexpected laughter.

      “I can think of worse faults than humor, Miss Abernathy,” he said slowly, drawn despite himself by her lively countenance.

      “Not for a missionary’s daughter.”

      “But then you’re a most unusual missionary’s daughter,” he retorted.

      Her mouth quirked. “And are you acquainted with enough of us to have any yardstick by which to measure, Lord Straithe?”

      The pert response took Jamie aback. “A damned unusual missionary’s daughter,” he muttered, as much to himself as to her.

      “Well, yes,” she answered, her smile fading at his uncivil tone. “I suppose I am or I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

      “No, you wouldn’t.”

      Tired of word games, Jamie decided it was time to rid himself of this audacious female and summon the delectable Mei-Lin to soothe his aching temples. Among other parts.

      “I assume your presence has something to do with the notes you sent me, and not any desire to learn the intricacies of the Fluttering Butterfly.”

      “The fluttering…?”

      With a mocking grin, he gestured to one of the painted panels decorating the bed.

      A wave of color washed up her neck. Lifting her chin, she glared at him. “Of course not!”

      Prompted as much by his pounding, swirling senses as by the way she stuck her nose in the air, Jamie couldn’t resist taunting her just a bit.

      “You might find it enlightening,” he suggested provocatively.

      She pursed her lips, looking remarkably like the governess he’d previously thought her. “It’s no use trying to embarrass me, Lord Straithe. I’m well past the age of missishness, but I do wish you would refrain from any more suggestive, ill-bred innuendoes.”

      Jamie took a perverse satisfaction in her prim, disapproving expression. The laughter that had so irritated him was completely gone from her eyes now. He refused to admit that he felt its loss.

      “If you will meet with men in brothels, you must learn to accustom yourself to far worse than suggestive innuendoes.”

      He strolled forward, intending to shock her and send her on her way. Lifting one hand, he ran a careless knuckle down her heat-stained cheek. The soft, creamy texture of her skin surprised him almost as much as his touch startled her.

      She took a hasty step back. When she discovered that the bed blocked any further retreat, consternation flooded her expressive eyes.

      “Lord Straithe! I must insist that you refrain from such…such…”

      “Such intimacies?” he murmured, beginning to enjoy his game. “No, I think not.”

      Her eyes widened at his deliberate response, and she tried to edge sideways. Jamie planted one hand against the carved teak bedpost, blocking her escape. He leaned forward until his lower chest brushed the enticing mounds of her breasts. Her very generous breasts. The contact sent St. Elmo’s Fire dancing along his nerves and heated blood still warm from several cups of plum wine. Curling one finger under her chin, he lifted her face to his.

      “Women who wait for a man in a room such as this, Miss Abernathy, must live with the consequences.”

      The low words, half lazy threat and half challenge, hung between them. For endless moments her golden brown eyes held his. Then she gave her head a little shake, as if to clear it.

      “You know very well why I’m here, Lord Straithe.”

      “Do I?” he СКАЧАТЬ