Rogue's Holiday

Read an Excerpt

Grillon’s Hotel, London, 1820

     “I’ll return in a moment,” said Chastity as she rose from the table where she and Rose dined in their shared room.
     Rose looked up, her fork paused in midair. “Are you going out…alone? You’re not dressed for town.”
      Chastity considered her drab brown cotton gown that she had changed  into thinking she would remain in their room. “No one will see me save  the desk clerk to whom I will direct my inquiry.” The carriage ride to  London had been plagued with muddy roads and much rain, and the drafty  lobby had left her chilled. The fire kindled for them had begun to warm  her but a glass of sherry would go far to completing the process.
     “Do you wish me to accompany you?” Rose cast a look of longing at what remained of her braised veal.
     “Nay finish your meal,” Chastity said, crossing the room to the door.
     “Hurry back,” urged Rose. “I peeked under the silver dome that hides the sweetmeats. A most delectable selection.”
      “They will go well with what I have in mind.” As she reached for the  door handle, Crispin, who had been curled up before the fire, raised his  head and opened his golden eyes briefly considering her before  returning to his nap. The bumpy carriage ride to London had not been to  his liking either.
     Closing the door behind her, Chastity entered  the corridor devoid of heat. She drew her shawl tightly around her and  hurried downstairs to the lobby. She was dismayed to find no one at the  front desk.
     A single footman stood just inside the hotel’s  entrance. She hastened toward him. As she did, she collided with a hard  body, the impact forcing the air from her lungs. Stunned, she backed  away, trying not to fall. With her eyes downcast, she placed her hand  over her racing heart.
     The first thing she noticed as she looked  up from the tiled floor was a pair of black Hessian boots polished to a  high gloss with a silver-white braid circling the top, ending in  shimmering tassels. Boots that could only have been the creation of  George Hoby, the first bootmaker in London, who had acquired a few of  her father’s designs.
     From the boots, her gaze traveled up long,  muscular thighs encased in tight buckskin breeches. Hands fisted on  narrow hips and an impatient sigh suggested he thought her in the wrong.
     Impudent man! Oaf! He had run into her!
      Her scrutiny continued up to the black claw-hammer coat he wore over a  cinnamon suede waistcoat. His cravat was simply tied yet stylish.
     “Well, Miss, have you had your fill of me?” he said in an amused tone.
      Chastity met hazel eyes rimmed with green and pierced with shards of  gold. A chiseled face with a strong jaw was framed by wavy dark brown  hair and trim side-whiskers. Altogether an attractive man if she didn’t  consider his smirk.
     She could not abide men who thought themselves desired by all females, which he clearly did.
      “What?” she said, her voice dripping sarcasm. “Is there to be no  apology, no begging my forgiveness for nearly knocking a lady off her  feet?”
     “A lady?” His gaze boldly traveled the length of her. “If you be a lady, you are a very pretty lady, indeed.”
She  glared at him, dismissing his compliment as insincere, one he likely  gave to all women to whom he liberally doled out his charm. She would  not be diverted by such undeserved flattery. “Pretty or plain makes no  difference, sir. A gentleman who causes distress to a lady will make  amends.”
     “Not to put too fine a point on it, Miss, but whatever  were you thinking darting across the lobby without a care of where you  were going?”
     So, there was to be no apology. Worse, a scold. “I knew very well where I was going, sir. It was you who apparently did not.”
     “Very well,” he inclined his head, “if you insist. Allow me to make amends.”
      Without warning, he took her by the waist and forcibly drew her to his  chest, pressing his lips to hers in a burning, invasive kiss that left  her breathless and her lips throbbing.
     When he finally released  her, she backed away, stunned, and covered her pulsing lips with her  fingertips. Never had she been kissed in such a manner. And in front of a  footman!
     Before she could say a word, the arrogant rogue turned  on his heels, crossed the lobby and disappeared through the door to the  coffee house. The scent of cigar smoke wafted to her nostrils, making  her grateful she had no business there.
     Pressing her lips together, she fisted her hands and glared daggers at the door, imagining it was his back.
      A moment passed as she made an effort to restore her calm demeanor. She  ignored the footman, who stood like a statue next to the door.
     At the front desk, she was pleased to see the clerk returning to his post.
      She had meant to ask for two glasses of sherry but her encounter with  the cad made her choice clear. “Sherry, if you please, a full bottle,  delivered to my room.”
     She would need more than one glass to forget the man’s arrogant kiss.

Copyright © 2019 Regan Walker