Alphabet Regency Romance Complete Box Set by Kasey Michaels

Author:Kasey Michaels
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: regency romance, romance anthology, romance classic, romance boxed set, romance box set, regency romance humor, funny regency romance, regency romance box set
Publisher: Kasey Michaels

Chapter Ten

The Hall was all in darkness, with only a few candles in the corridors and the light from the dying embers in the fireplaces casting weird flickering shadows against the walls.

Everyone, it being well past two in the morning, was tucked up in their beds fast asleep.

Anne Chevington, the picture of contentment, was snuggled up against her husband’s shoulder as he lay softly snoring, an open copy of The Compleat Gardener resting on his ample belly.

Down the corridor, Lord and Lady Storm also slept in each others arms, having completed a discussion of each other’s matchmaking schemes, a conversation that had engendered some lovemaking a little closer to home.

Lady Lockport slept all alone in her wide, otherwise empty bed. No contented smile softened her features, just as no masculine chest served as her pillow. She tossed and turned, as if some dissatisfaction troubled her even in her sleep, and more than one long, sad sigh escaped her lips.

Behind the door on quite the opposite side of the Countess’s sitting room resided the only occupant of The Hall who was not yet abed. Not that Lord Lockport had not tried to sleep—heaven only knew he craved a few hours in the arms of Morpheus—but it was not to be.

Kevin paced the floor of his chamber, his mind unable to stop replaying the scene enacted earlier in the large saloon. “She clung to that popinjay like a demmed barnacle,” he gritted aloud as the picture of his wife and Rory O’Keefe deep in discussion in a corner of the saloon came back to haunt him yet again.

Oh, yes, he had been sitting in Glynis’s pocket the whole evening long himself, but even though he had done so on Jared’s advice, his hadn’t really been in the thing.

You’re jealous, old man, his inner voice told him now. “You’re damned right, I am!” Kevin agreed aloud, before downing a half-glass of burgundy and pouring himself another.

In the act of bringing the glass to his lips, he hesitated a moment, thinking he heard a noise in the corridor. He listened a moment longer, then shrugged, dismissing the sound as just the natural creakings of an ancient building, and took a small sip from his glass.

There! He’d heard it again. No settling of timbers that, he decided, and no ghost ever succeeded in making a sound like breaking glass. Chains dragging, or deep groans, that’s what ghosts sounded like, he was sure.

Putting down his glass, Kevin moved stealthily toward the sitting room and tiptoed past Miss Roseberry’s pallet to the small door leading to the dresser’s bedroom. Silly woman, he thought, smiling. Did she really believe he was such a slowtop that he was unaware of the door that led from that bedroom directly into his wife’s chamber?

He had to know that Gilly was abed and not, as Bo suggested, skulking the corridors at night, seeking the fortune.

He approached her bed slowly, unable to resist the temptation of a lengthy observation of his wife’s slumbering form.

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