Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
‘Are you all right?’ I ask softly, not liking the sight or her like this. Not at all.
‘I am fine.’
She is not fine. Neither am I it would seem, for the vision of her not looking her usual confident, vibrant self is quite perturbing. ‘Taya?’ I say quietly, still holding her hand, her finger now dripping blood all over my breeches. Oddly, it doesn’t cost me a thought, as I stare into her glassy eyes when she looks up at me. All breath seems to leave my lungs and breathing becomes awfully tricky. Look at her. God, just look at her, wildly beautiful and spirited. I ache to kiss her. To touch those lips with mine.
I clear my throat and go back to her finger. ‘I’m sure I can dig it out,’ I say through my clogged throat.
‘What with, a spoon?’
I look up at her, finding her smiling. I roll my eyes. ‘Very funny.’ I return to her finger. Make conversation, if only to distract myself from what I am doing. It’s easier said than done. I have never found myself needing to make conversation with a lady. ‘What book are you reading?’ I blurt, frowning to myself.
‘You assume that because I am a lady, all I have to do is read literature, play harp and look pretty?’
I feel myself blush, scowling down at her finger.
‘Then you are a typical man, aren’t you, Mr Melrose. Not just a rake but a pig.’
I gasp, outraged. ‘I am not a pig. Ask my sister.’
She laughs a little. ‘But a rake?’
‘Is that a concern of yours?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Well, then that is the end of that.’ I shrug. ‘And what of your future?’
‘What of it?’
‘I am sure His Grace wishes to marry you off to some fine gentleman.’
She snorts. ‘No thank you.’
I smile. We’ll see about that. ‘And how are you finding London?’
‘If you must know, boring. I was happy in the countryside.’ She looks a littlt wistful as I look up at her. ‘It’s not the same here without Papa.’
I’m not sure I like sadness and vulnerability on Taya Winters. ‘I am very sorry about what happened to him.’
‘Thank you.’
I rip my eyes from hers and focus on her finger. Her skin against mine.
She clears her throat. ‘And when may we be blessed with this secret story of yours, Frank?’ she asks, and I smile.
‘And when may I see whatever it is you’re pencilling?’
Her head tilts, her teeth nibbling her bottom lip, thinking. ‘You will think it is terrible.’
‘What is terrible?’
‘What is on the paper.’
She wants to show me. ‘I’m quite certain I won’t. And how do you know if you do not share?’ Has she shared with anyone? Anyone at all? Something tells me no.
Clearly nervous, Taya reaches for the paper with her good hand and places it before us, and I look down. My God, I did not expect that. I am staring at a drawing, a fine drawing, of my sister and the Duke standing in the church. It’s … incredible.
‘Taya, that is wonderful,’ I breathe, taking in every detail, for there is much, even down to the reflections on the gold buttons of Johnny’s jacket. ‘You are a fine artist.’
‘You really think so?’
Do I think so? ‘It is proven beyond all doubt,’ I say over a small laugh, motioning to the tatty paper. She smiles, proud, and, Lord help me, it is life. My God, she is wonderfully tempting, maddeningly alluring, infuriatingly annoying, and … I must kiss her. I simply must!
She swallows. ‘Have I stopped breathing?’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Bleeding!’ she blurts. ‘Have I stopped bleeding?’
I look down at her finger. She has not. I swallow and take her hand, lifting it to my mouth, and slip her injured finger past my lips, sucking the pad in between circling the tip of my tongue across her flesh, feeling for the thorn. My body sings, my lungs shrink, and Taya visibly shakes before me, clenching her eyes closed. I find the thorn. Suck. Spit it out.
‘Taya?’ I say, my eyes drawn to her mouth, moving closer and closer and closer. I reach for the table to steady myself, certain my pounding heart might knock me from the chair.
Crash!
The sound of breaking bone china rings out, startling us from our rapture, and we both jerk, gasp, and start to shake. I am disorientated, completely befuddled, and when I find Taya shaking before me, I realise she is too.
I hear pounding footsteps, not just one set, maybe three or four. Shit. I shake myself to life, check a still dazed Taya is stable on her chair and scan the tablecloth. There’s only one thing for it. I grab a corner and yank, creating another deafening crash of bone china. It’s sacrilege, I know, but I know not what else to do.
‘What’s going on?’ Johnny appears at the doorway looking quite indecent in his undergarments and a bare chest, his eyes jumping from a silent and still Taya to, what I expect, but hope not, a rather guilty-looking me.