“Are you an angel?” he asked. “Have I died?”
The man was lying in the mud, his ankle nearly snapped in half. His face oozed from a myriad of cuts, and yet he still had the wherewithal to give the crowd a good show. It was enough to make her contemplate dropping him in the mud. She didn’t, of course, but she hoped her glare would suffice.
Meanwhile, Ronnie just stood there poised, his fist still raised as he gaped. “Mellie?”
She looked up, shooting a venomous look at his bloodied fist. “Do you mean to trounce me as well? Lay me out in the mud and the shite like last week’s garbage?”
“What?” Ronnie took a moment to understand while she gestured with her chin toward his fist. Then he abruptly gasped and shook out his hand, dropping it helplessly to his side. “But I won. This was anaffaire d’honor.”
“Congratulations,” she mocked. “You beat a man half your weight.”
“Hey!” muttered Trevor. “I’m not that small.”
“Oh shut up. I’m making a point.” Then she turned her attention to her cousin. Best make the situation absolutely clear. “You were right, Ronnie. You have made everything so clear to me. I could never love a brute like you. It’s him I want. A man of elegance, not violence.”
She watched her cousin absorb her words, his mind obviously working slowly, and no wonder. Certainly, Ronnie was an accomplished fighter, but he’d never in his life been called a brute. He was a poet, for God’s sake. And his father was wont to call him a useless fribble with no starch whatsoever. Of course, both appellations were completely wrong, but truth didn’t matter here. Not when he’d wanted drama. And so she stretched the truth—she outright broke it—and she felt no remorse.
“I love Trevor,” she said loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“Since when?” her cousin demanded.
Since never. She had a thorough disgust of them both. Especially as Trevor began to speak in a quavering voice.
“Oh, to finally hear those words, now in the moments before I expire. My life is complete.”
“You’re not dying,” she hissed. Unless he was hurt more than he appeared. The thought shot her with alarm until he started speaking again.
“I am dying!” he cried. “Kiss me, my love. Kiss me, and mayhap your love will keep me tethered to this mortal coil.”
“I will not,” she said between clenched teeth.
He pitched his voice to a plaintive wail. “Then I shall die for sure!”
Damnation on all bloody arrogant, ridiculous men! One glance about her showed that the crowd was hanging on his every word. She didn’t really care until she looked at Ronnie’s face. He wasn’t stupid. He could see that Trevor wasn’t really hurt. It wouldn’t take him long to remember that she’d never spoken of Trevor with anything but disdain. And from there it was a small step to realizing that this entire display was a sham. So she had to do something quickly. Something that he’d never forget, even if he did suspect the lie.
So she did it. She kissed Trevor.
She more than kissed him. She lifted him in her arms and gave him the kind of scorching kiss that every woman dreamed she’d received from the grandson of a duke. And he—horrible roué that he was—wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her right back.
And he kept kissing her, with tongue and teeth and a growl of hunger so wonderful that she hated him even more. Even as she lost all thought to propriety in this very public place.
Five
Keep your composure at all times, even if he has lost his.
“Melinda Smithson!” Ronnie exclaimed and probably not for the first time. Trevor barely restrained his irritation. The idiot apparently thought taking a parental tone would endear him to Mellie. Sadly, the tone did have an effect on Trevor. It cooled his ardor just enough for him to realize they were kissing in the mud in full view of the entire county.
Romantic? Yes. Appropriate behavior for a gentleman of good breeding? Decidedly not.
So with a reluctant sigh, he drew back, taking the time to stroke her cheek and admire the silky texture of her skin. Damn, but she was a beautiful woman. Especially since their ardor had pulled the pins from her hair and tumbled her mahogany curls down her back. The sunlight brought out the red highlights and turned her mink eyes golden. And her lips—her wet, red, plump—
“Melinda Smithson!” Ronnie cried again. “You forget yourself!”
“Yes,” she said, her expression still gratifyingly dazed. “Yes, I suppose I do.”
Trevor grinned. “Love will do that, you know,” he said as he stroked his thumb across her plump lower lip. “Makes one forget everything else…” He stretched toward her, and she brought herself in reach. But then there was Ronnie, grabbing hold of Trevor’s shoulder and muscling him back.
If the idiot had dared to touch Mellie, Trevor would have punched him hard right in the knee. It would be enough to cripple the man, potentially for life. But as the bastard chose to exercise his physical prowess on Trevor, his knee was spared. Sadly, the same could not be said for his own ankle. Now that he wasn’t kissing Mellie anymore, other painful sensations were pushing to the forefront of his brain. His ankle, for one, was swelling by the second. His jaw was already three times as large as it should be, or at least it felt that way.