Secrets of Midnight by Miriam Minger

Author:Miriam Minger [Minger, Miriam]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: historical fiction, romance, historical romance
ISBN: 9780982883563
Publisher: Walker Publishing
Published: 2010-11-05T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Corisande gasped and veered to avoid careening into Donovan as he sidestepped to avoid her too. Spinning around, she gaped at him, loose strands of hair half covering her face, but she wasn't so blinded as not to see that his shirt was hanging open—oh, dear Lord, he was already undressing!

At least, he had been undressing. Now he was simply staring at her, his gaze sweeping over her from head to foot. With a shriek she crossed her arms over her breasts, demanding in a hoarse croak, "Turn around this very instant! Damn you, Donovan Trent, turn around!"

But Donovan didn't want to turn around. God help him, he wanted to stare and stare, the hissing fire burning brightly enough that he could see nearly every tantalizing inch of Corisande just as God had made her. And her nipples weren't pink as he'd thought they might be last night, but a dusky brown he could plainly see through her nightgown even as she desperately tried to cover herself. A dusky brown like the muslin-veiled triangle at the heart of her thighs.

"What are you doing here? I—I only left the dining room a few moments ago. What are you doing here?"

She sounded nearly beside herself, her voice having become a high-pitched squeak. It was enough to make Donovan cease his staring, barely, and look at her stricken face.

"What do you think I'm doing here, woman? You told me not to be too long, and I do sleep here."

She opened her mouth to speak, but this time no words came at all. Instead she turned and fled toward the bed and tore back the covers, leaping beneath them and pulling them up to the bridge of her nose.

In fact, she looked like a tousle-haired mouse peeping out at him, and thank God, too, that Corisande had covered herself, giving him much-needed respite to calm his thundering senses. He'd almost gone after her, the sight of her trim, heart-shaped bottom all the temptation any man should be made to stand in one lifetime. Ten lifetimes! He doubted he'd ever seen any woman fashioned more seductively, lithe and long-limbed and yet curved and round

Groaning to himself, Donovan went to the washbasin and filled it with water, then bent over and splashed himself full in the face. He did so, not once but several times, wishing that it wasn't tepid but ice-cold. Ice-cold to stop this infernal burning inside him, this madness he seemed scarcely able to control.

By the time he stopped splashing himself he was drenched, his chest matted and soaking, his shirt dripping wet, as well as his breeches and boots. And yet he felt like hanging his head in the water, doubting the dunking had done him any good.

Dammit, why had he raced up here? Corisande hadn't meant those bloody words, he knew that, which was nothing new to him.

He'd been called darling countless times before, my love, my heart—by elegant, beautiful women who uttered such endearments as easily as they changed lovers.

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