Lord of Scoundrels - Loretta Chase [30]
"What did you say?" he asked in ominously low tones.
"I said, 'This leads— '"
"Sweet," he said, following her round the corner.
"Yes, there it is." She quickened her pace. "I recognize the lamppost."
If she'd been a man, he would have made sure her skull had an intimate acquaintance with that lamppost.
Dain realized he was clenching his fists. He slowed his steps and told himself to go home. Now. He had never in his life raised a hand against a female. That sort of behavior showed not only a contemptible lack of control, but cowardice as well. Only cowards used deadly weapons against the weaponless.
"There seems to be no imminent danger of your endlessly wandering the streets of Paris and agitating the populace into a riot," he said tightly. "I believe I might with clear conscience allow you to complete your journey solo."
She paused and turned and smiled. "I quite understand. The Rue de Provence is usually very crowded at this time, and one of your friends might see you. Best run along. I promise not to breathe a word about your gallantry."
He told himself to laugh and walk away. He'd done it a thousand times before, and knew it was one of the best exits. There was no way to stab and jab when Dain laughed in your face. He'd been more viciously stabbed and jabbed before. This was merely…irritation.
All the same, the laugh wouldn't come, and he couldn't turn his back on her.
She had already disappeared round the corner.
He stormed after her and grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. "Now, you hold your busy tongue and listen," he said levelly. "I am not one of your Society fribbles to be twitted and mocked by a ha'pennyworth of a chit with an exalted opinion of her wit. I don't give a damn what anyone sees, thinks, or says. I am not chivalrous, Miss Trent, and I am not sweet, confound your impertinence!"
"And I am not one of your stupid cows!" she snapped. "I am not paid to do exactly as you like, and no law on earth obliges me to do so. I shall say whatever I please, and at this moment, it pleases me exceedingly to infuriate you. Because that is precisely how I feel. You have ruined my evening. I should like nothing better than to ruin yours, you spoiled, selfish, spiteful brute!"
She kicked him in the ankle.
He was so astonished that he let go of her arm.
He stared at her tiny, booted foot. "Good gad, did you actually think you could hurt me with that?" He laughed. "Are you mad, Jess?"
"You great drunken jackass!" she cried. "How dare you?" She tore off her bonnet and whacked him in the chest with it.
"I did not give you leave to use my Christian name." She whacked him again. "And I am not a ha'pennyworth of a chit, you thickheaded ox!" Whack, whack, whack.
Dain gazed down in profound puzzlement. He saw a flimsy wisp of a female attempting, apparently, to do him an injury with a bit of millinery.
She seemed to be in a perfect fury. While tickling his chest with her ridiculous hat, she was ranting about some party and somebody's picture and Mrs. Beaumont and how he had spoiled everything and he would be very sorry, because she no longer gave a damn about Bertie, who was no use on earth to anybody, and she was going straight back to England and open a shop and auction the icon herself and get ten thousand for it, and she hoped Dain choked on it.
Dain was not certain what he was supposed to choke on, except perhaps laughter, because he was certain he'd never seen anything so vastly amusing in all his life as Miss Jessica Trent in a temper fit.
Her cheeks were pink, her eyes flashed silver sparks, and her sleek black hair was tumbling about her shoulders.
It was very black, the same pure jet as his own. But different. His was thick and coarse and curly. Hers was a rippling veil of silk.
A few tresses shaken