Black Diaries

61. Never look a Gift Horse in the Mouth

The day we got back from the race we didn't even stop the car at the little cottage where I used to live. We drove straight on, up to the manor house. As if there were a silent agreement between the two of us, we got out and he took my hand as we walked up the stairs of Barrington Hall.

We were just about to enter, when he suddenly grabbed me again and pressed me against the stone wall, locking his lips with mine.

"Tut-tut, my Lord," I murmured, burying my fingers in the long, black hair, cascading down to his shoulders, pulling him closer towards me. "How improper of you. What if the queen happened to walk by?"

"Let her!" he rasped. "Oh, Cassy..."

A throaty growl emanated from his throat, and his kiss became even hungrier. Grabbing both my hands, he pressed them against the rough stone, and moved in with his hard body, now that I was completely defenseless. "Oh, Cassy..."

I breathed in his scent... the clean scent of fresh hay, with just a whiff of masculine odor.

"Oh, Christopher Conrad Alexander Edward Malcolm...." A frown flitted over my face. "On second thoughts, that's rather a mouthful. How about if I just call you Chris?"

I could feel the corners of his mouth twitch. "How about if you stick with 'My Lord'?"

"Ha! You wish!"

"Yes. I do, as a matter of fact."

I laughed. "Dream on!"

❤☠❤☠❤☠❤☠❤

A few days later, I was sitting on the veranda, sipping coffee—he had unsuccessfully tried to convert me to the cult of the tea-leaf—when Samuel the butler approached me with the paper, and handed it to me with a bow that made his belly wobble.

I didn't even have to open it. The big story was there, right on the front page.

AN EPIC ROMANCE

Lord Farleigh, Britain's most eligible noble bachelor, off the market?

A few days ago, the victory of Lord Farleigh's Silver Star during the Gold Cup at Ascot was overshadowed by an event that stunned all the romantics in Great Britain into Silence: Lord Farleigh was observed with a young woman in his private box, and at the climax of the race, when Silver Star had just passed through the finish line, he pulled her into his arms and gave her the most passionate kiss in the history of the Royal Ascot. After days of diligent research, we are thrilled to report that we have discovered the identity of the lucky girl: she is one Cassidy McKinney, a young veterinarian recently arrived from the US. Well, if things with his Lordship continue at the rate they're going, Miss McKinney won't need to apply for an extended permit.

Underneath was a picture of me and him, kissing at the race. Thank God you couldn't see my face clearly. I didn't think American cops read the London Times, but still...

"You're much more beautiful in real life."

His voice didn't make me jump this time. I suppose I had known he was there. How could I not? I had felt him approaching, had felt the tension in the air crackling like lightning. It was six in the morning, and I was already fantasizing about having his mouth on mine.

"You know," I sighed, over-dramatically, gazing at the picture, then looking up at him with a lopsided smile, "I came here to get away from things, to live a quiet, peaceful life. I didn't exactly mean for something like this to happen."

"Do you think I did?" His eyes sparkled as he gave back my smile. "The ideal woman I always imagined was a beautiful, blonde, well-behaved baronet's daughter—not a sassy, kung fu fighting veterinarian from the colonies."