Page 1 of The Miracle of Love
Chapter One
London, England
December 1821
Deklan Quinton hadjust fallen exhausted onto his bed when he felt something more than a lump on the mattress. In the next moment, a piercing shriek resounded in his ear and someone began hitting him with a book. “Help! Help! Intruder!”
Holy Mother!
It took him mere seconds to subdue his assailant, a young woman with delicious curves. She shrieked and hit him again when his hand accidentally cupped her breast. He had meant to reach for her arm, but it was dark, and she was squirming and kicking.
How was he to know that exquisitely soft, fleshy bit was not her arm?
Thwack!
Bollocks, she hit him again with that book.
He covered her mouth with his hand as she was about to scream again, then rolled her flat on her back and used his weight to hold her down. Lord, she smelled delicious, like fresh strawberries you wanted to lick all over.
Well, he wasn’t going to do anything to this obvious innocent other than try to calm her and find out what she was doing in his bedchamber, and more specifically, in his bed.
Her screams continued, but were now muffled under the pressure of his palm.
However, the damage had been done.
That first banshee shriek must have carried into the hall and woken up those in the adjoining bedchambers.
She was still wriggling beneath him, and he was naked.
Thank goodness he had bothered to lock his door or else his family would now be upon them and gawking at the tattoo on his arse, the one he’d drunkenly acquired two months ago. It would also escape no one’s notice that he was atop this delicious girl while wearing nothing at all, not a stitch, even though it was winter, and the night air was cold and crisp.
As for her, she was wearing a nightrail of thickest linen that had ridden up her legs as she kicked him in an attempt to unman him. A failed attempt, and now she was desperately trying to tug it down.
One slender leg rubbed against his privates, and she suddenly realized what she had just grazed.
She shrieked again, the sound completely muffled by his hand. “Stop screaming,” he said in an urgent whisper, hearing footsteps down the hall. “My name is Deklan Quinton. Miranda…Lady Grayfell is my aunt. Do you hear me? She is my aunt. This is my bedchamber when I visit her. I promise you. I had no idea anyone was in here. She never puts anyone in here but me. Why are you here?”
The girl was no longer shrieking but her mouth was moving.“Hummph, bummph.”
“Stop. I cannot understand a word you’re saying.”
“Hummph, glummph, clothes.”
Ah, he’d caught that last bit about clothing. “I am going to take my hand off your mouth, but you must promise not to scream again. Nod if you promise.”
She nodded.
“Good.” He eased his hand away the littlest bit but dared not fully remove it off her achingly soft lips just yet. “Now, I need you to close your eyes and count to ten.”
“Why?” Her voice was only slightly muffled and sounded much less hysterical.
“So I can find my clothes and put them on. That is for your sake, not mine. I have no delicate sensibilities whatsoever. Go ahead. Close your eyes and start counting quietly.”
To his relief, she appeared to do so.
“One. Two. Three.”
She had an angel’s voice, sweet as a melody.
