Page 34 of Pride: The Rogue
“Yes, Mr. Latimer. That is justonename.”
What the hell was she jabbering about? “And?”
“Unless, Latimer is your Christian name?” the chit mused. “Which given how it sounds, very well may be, in which case, do you have a last name? Or, maybe Latimer is your surname in which case what is your given name?”
It took him a minute to untangle all that. Just as he did, she opened her mouth to add another thought.
For God’s sake.
“Lachlan,” he snapped; he would have happily given up one of his lungs, to shut her up. “Lachlan Latimer.”
“Lachlan Latimer,” she murmured. “Lachlan Latimer,” she repeated several times, as though she wished to taste the feel of it on her tongue and the sound of it from her lips.
And goddamned, if another healthy rush of blood filled his cock and left him hard at the sound of her repeating his name over and over.
“That seems familiar to me,” she mused, tapping a finger against her lips in sweet, seductive, contemplation.
“I doubt that, darlin’.” One fine as her, wouldn’t know a damn about him or his career. “Don’t you have a family? Someone to claim you?”
“Of course, I have a family,” she said simply, with a godforsaken innocence. “Everyonehas a family, Lachlan.”
He didn’t.…
More importantly… “Where the hell is yours?” Latimer made no attempt to mask his annoyance or anger; a fact which the lady, given her serene demeanor, either failed to hear or care about.
“They are home,” she murmured.
“Home?”
She nodded.
“Where are your servants?”
“Well, two of them you met.”
Latimer stared incredulously. “The foul-mouthed lads?”
She frowned. “I prefer to think of them as the loyal, clever, and courageous, boys. But, yes.”
“And?” he demanded when she didn’t add anything more than that.
“Well, my sister,” she tripped over her words. “She is in the carriage ahead of mine with the other driver.”
While she prattled, his head spun.
“Fortunately, she managed to continue her journey. I did not fare as well in my travels.”
“Unfortunately for me,” he said under his breath.
“The storm made the road impassible—a branch.”
He puzzled his brow.
“That is, a branch made the road impassible. That is what my driver called it, but after inspecting the fallen debris, I concluded the branch was just that in name only. As it fell a yew tree, so ancient, the limb itself could rival that of an impressive oak some five hundred years old.”
Latimer stared at the rambling lady in growing horror.
“Yes!” she nodded, mistaking his horrified reaction for her telling of that tree and not the bloody realization of just how innocent the lady was. “It was enormous.” The lady stretched her long, graceful arms on either side of her and attempted to display the estimated length.
