Memoirs of a Hoyden by Joan Smith

Author:Joan Smith [Smith, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1988-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

As I lay on the floor with my poor head pounding and reeling, I was dimly aware of other things going forth in the room. There was the sound of furtive footsteps hastening toward the door in the hallway. The door closed, and there was a scuffling outside it. My poor, addled wits deduced that Kestrel had been lurking nearby and caught my assailant as he left the room. I tried to sit up, and felt such a stab of pain in my temple, I let out a moan, then passed out stone-cold.

The next time I was aware of anything I was on a sofa, propped up with pillows, covered with a crocheted throw, with a glass of something vile pressed to my lips. A man hovered above me, one of his arms holding me up to drink. He was trying to poison me! I raised a hand and batted the awful-tasting stuff away.

An educated curse rent the air, and peering through the dim shadow, I recognized the features of Lord Kestrel, glaring at me like a hawk. “Oh, it’s you!” I exclaimed, and felt foolish for my forceful spurning of his help. Being held in his arms did nothing to help me recover my sangfroid. Though I have had many adventures and experiences, my amorous doings and Aurelia’s all came from the realm of fantasy. I really felt extraordinarily uncomfortable with a man’s arms around me. And to make it worse, I realized that the shadow in his eyes wasn’t anger, but alarm, or fear for my safety.

“I thought someone was trying to poison me. What was that awful liquid?” I asked, to cover my gêne. I knew perfectly well I was blushing like a green cow, and hoped he would mistake it for the effect of the brandy. I realized now the burning liquor was that.

The glare softened to a reluctant smile. At this close range, I noticed Kestrel’s lashes were very long. They were what gave his eyes that penetrating look—the pale gray eyes were emphasized by the dark outline. With a smile curving his lips, he appeared more attractive than before, and the embarrassment of being in his arms was intensified accordingly. “Brandy,” he said. “Are you all right, Marion?”

I couldn’t control my eyes at that “Marion,” which slipped out unawares. “Other than a splitting headache and a suit now decorated with brandy as well as mud and dust, I seem to be intact,” I said breathlessly.

He returned my head to the pillows, but with one arm still around me, which had the effect of drawing his broad shoulders in an arch around me. I remembered how he had looked that morning with his jacket off. At this close range, actually touching in places, I could feel his body heat. Belvoir’s “hard wall” of chest that comforted Aurelia in times of strife had been woefully inadequate. A man’s chest wasn’t like a wall, cold and impersonal. There was animal warmth, comfort. The lips were very close when a man had his arms around you.

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