Authors: Jane Feather
Miranda grinned. “Yes, stupid woman. She screamed as if she was being boiled in oil. And the wretched comb was only paste anyway.”
“That creature was on her head?” he asked, filled with compassion for the unknown hysteric.
“He’s not a creature!” Miranda protested. “He’s perfectly clean and very good natured. He wasn’t going to hurt her.”
“Perhaps the object of his attention didn’t know that.” The glint of amusement in his lazy regard grew brighter.
“That’s always possible,” Miranda conceded. “But I was about to take him away and they set on me, so what could I do but run?”
“Quite,” he agreed, then cocked his head with a frown at
the renewed sounds of a mob in full cry. “But I’m afraid they’ve realized you gave them the slip.”
“Oh, lord of grace,” Miranda muttered. “Come on, Chip.” She turned to flee but the nobleman reached out and grabbed her arm.
“I have a better idea.”
“What?” Miranda looked anxiously over her shoulder toward the sounds of the returning hue and cry.
“You’ll be safer if you get off the streets for a while. That orange gown is as distinctive as a beacon. Come with me.” He turned back toward the Adam and Eve without waiting for her assent and after an instant’s hesitation Miranda followed him, Chip still clinging to her neck.
“Why would you bother with me, milord?” She skipped up beside him, her eyes curious as she looked up at him.
Gareth stared at her. The idea was far from fully formed, but the possibilies beckoned. “Would you be interested in a proposition?”
She looked up at him, and her blue eyes were wary. But she could see nothing in his countenance to alarm her. His brown eyes rearded her calmly, his mouth was relaxed. “A proposition? What kind of a proposition?”
THE SILVER ROSE
A Bantam Book/August 1997
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1997 by Jane Feather
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eISBN: 978-0-307-42903-2
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