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A Espiral de Netuno

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Mishal Katz

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“Would you like a drink?" "No, thank you." "So polite." "One of us should be, don't you think?" He turned to face her, half-amused and half-surprised by her smart mouth. She was not tall, barely the height of his shoulder, but at the moment she looked like an Amazon. The hood of her cloak had fallen away, and her hair was in disarray, tumbling around her shoulders, gleaming pale blond in the dim light. Her chin was thrust forward in a universal sign of defiance, her shoulders were stiff and straight, and her chest rose and fell with harsh anger, swelling beneath her cloak. She looked as though she'd like to do him no small amount of bodily harm.”

“She moved to push past him. When he did not move, she stopped, unwilling to touch him. A pity. The memory of the warmth of her gloved hand on his cold cheek flashed. Apparently her behavior outside had been the product of surprise. And pleasure. He wondered what else he might do instinctively in response to pleasure. An image flashed- blond hair spread wide across dark, silken sheets, ice blue eyes alight with surprise as he gave prim, proper Penelope a glimpse of dark and heady pleasure. He'd nearly kissed her in the darkness. It had started out as a way to intimidate her, to begin the systematic compromising of quiet, unassuming, Penelope Marbury. But he did not deny that as they stood in his barren kitchen, he wondered what she would taste like. How her breath would sound fluttering across his skin. How she would feel against him. Around him.”

“Well, considering I'm in full view of half of London, as you are so quick to point out, what's the worst that could happen?" "Let's see," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "you could have been abducted, mistreated, revealed..." Penelope stiffened. "And how would that have been different than my treatment at your hands?" she whispered, keeping her voice low enough so that only he could hear her, knowing she was pushing his limits. His eyes flashed. "It would be immensely different. And if you can't see that-" "Oh, please. Don't pretend you care a bit about me, or my happiness. It would be the same cell, a different jailer.”

“Lord Bourne knows precisely where I've been and with whom for the duration of our short, disastrous marriage." She stepped toward Michael, her offense making her bold. "Home, alone. Instead of here, where the female half of London is apparently wishing they had the password to his bed." His eyes went wide. "I would appreciate it if you would leave, Michael," she added, tossing the mask and the rose to the billiard table. "You see, I've been looking forward to this billiards lesson. And you are making it very difficult to enjoy.”

“Lord Langford," she acknowledged, looking right down her nose at the man. "Penelope," the older man said, unable to keep the surprise from his gaze. "It's Lady Bourne to you." The words were cool and cutting, and Michael was sure she'd never been more beautiful. "Come to think of it, it was always lady to you. And you never referred to me as such." The older man's gaze narrowed in irritation, and Michael had an intense urge to put a fist into the viscount's face for the look. It was not necessary. His wife was more than able to care for herself. "You don't like that, I see. Well, let me tell what I don't like. I don't like insolence. And I don't like cruelty. And I most definitely don't like you. It is time you and I have it out, Langford, because while you might have stolen my husband's lands and funds and reputation, and you might have been a truly horrendous father to my friend, I absolutely refuse to have you take another thing from me, you despicable old man.”