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Wearing black?
He supposed it was possible, but the light-skirts he’d been acquainted with tended to favor bright, arresting colors.
Odriana Janssen had adored tulip yellow and fuchsia pink.
That unsolicited recollection sobered him, and a scowl puckered his forehead.
Then why did this woman hide?
Likely she was a lady with a curious nature. Or perchance, she was one of those women who enjoyed trysts with her lovers in places someone might come upon them. Some found the thrill of discovery quite erotic.
Kingston wasn’t among them.
“I said out, Miss.” Impatience tinted Egeus’s command. “Or I’ll call for the female escorts.”
Egads. There were female Goliaths here, too?
No, not Goliaths. Amazons.
“Mi—ss,” Egeus fairly growled, his breath hissing between his clenched teeth.
And still, the trespassing spitfire remained out of sight.
The sheer size of the escort half-blocking the alcove probably terrified her out of her mind.
Sympathy and admiration for the unknown woman seeped into Kingston. As well as his selfish need to arrive on time for his meeting with Mrs. Dorrian-Lane, which he highly suspected at this juncture was a futile wish.
Extracting his watch from his pocket, he kept his attention trained on the nook.
“I say, Egeus, should we keep Mrs. Dorrian-Lane waiting?” He pointedly glanced at his timepiece.
Bloody maggoty hell.
He was already five minutes late.
Not good. Blast it.
If this woman ruined his chances of making a match…
Bloody, bloody hell.
On the verge of gnashing his teeth, Kingston strode forward, trying to rein in his temper and pulsating frustration.
“Come now, love,” he coaxed, using all his heretofore dormant charms. Every woman adored being addressed as love, from the lowliest washerwoman to the haughtiest noblewoman. “No need for shyness. I promise. Egeus’s bark is much worse than his bite.”
Actually, Kingston wasn’t confident of that assertion at all.
Shooting a mocking glance at the intimidating man, Kingston grinned at the baleful glower Egeus leveled him.
If looks could kill…
“I’m late for an appointment, my lady,” Kingston cajoled. “And I would very much appreciate you deserting your hiding place since we all know you’re cloistered there.”
A muffled dammit filtered from the satin folds of the heavy draperies festooning the alcove.
Mayhap not a lady after all.
A hefty—quite unladylike—sigh of irritation followed, and a moment later, the other curtain twitched. A petite woman adorned entirely in black, from her gown to the simple satin domino covering the upper half of her face, to the lace cap atop her silvery-white hair…
