A Gentleman Never Tells(3)

“Can’t you see your dog isn’t disturbing me or Brutus?”

Brutus?

Her dog was named Brutus?

Oh, hell.

Brent glanced over at her dog. The mastiff looked to be about the size of a small bear and stood completely still and obedient by the woman’s side, acting as if he couldn’t be less interested in the little terror screeching like a banshee at an exorcism. To make matters worse, here he was, well over six feet, holding a small, fancy dog on a leash, while one of the loveliest ladies he’d seen since coming to London was with a dog who looked capable of ending a man’s life with one bite.

Prissy, who obviously had more courage than brains, was still frantically straining to get at the larger dog. Brutus, who could easily swallow Prissy whole, remained calm and undisturbed as a windless night by his mistress’s side. It was no wonder Brent had made her smile.

The young lady removed her hood, exposing long golden blonde hair. Brent swallowed slowly. He had an immediate urge to reach over and gently glide his hand down the silken length of her tumbled locks. He watched in awe as she lifted her hair from beneath her cape, spreading it gloriously over her shoulders.

She had to know how alluring that was. And especially so to a man who hadn’t been with a woman in far too long.

A delicious quiver started in his loins.

There was just enough of a breeze to flutter a stray tendril across her lovely cheek. She quickly brushed it behind her ear.

His breath quickened as she knelt in front of him. She pulled off one short black glove and let Prissy sniff her hand while she spoke softly to her. The dog stopped barking instantly and allowed the lady to pet her head and gently stroke her back as if they were long-lost friends reunited.

Oh, yes. Brent would be silenced and soothed, too, if she were stroking his head and talking so lovingly to him.

“See, a whisper is always better than a shout.”

“I didn’t shout at her,” he felt compelled to argue in self-defense, but wished he hadn’t the moment the words left his mouth.

“No, you didn’t. But you were speaking gruffly, and that is just as upsetting to an animal.”

Upsetting? This time Brent held his tongue and remained silent.

“Male or female?” she asked without looking up at Brent.

“Female,” he responded, his throat suddenly dry.

“What’s her name?”

He didn’t want to tell her, but as his mother was so fond of saying, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“Prissy,” he said with as much masculine bravado as he could muster, and then couldn’t keep himself from adding, “She’s my mother’s dog.”

The woman looked up at him and smiled so sweetly he almost felt hypnotized by her.

“Prissy,” she repeated. “That’s a lovely name for such a brave dog. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Pomeranian this small.”

Brent started to tell her that was because the father was of questionable breeding but silently cleared his throat instead, and then said, “And I’ve seen some big mastiffs before but, without question, Brutus wins the ribbon.”

She stared up at him again and laughed softly. The sound wrapped around him like a promise on a spring morning, while her captivating charm sent heat rushing through his body with the warmth of a blazing fire on a bitter cold night. The way she was looking at him played havoc with his lower body. He couldn’t help but wonder what this alluring woman was doing in the park so early and so obviously alone.

“My precious Brut simply didn’t know when to stop growing.” She reached behind her and patted her dog’s big head. Brutus gave her a woof of approval. “But he’s as harmless as a kitten, most of the time.”

Her speech and the expensive fabric and tailoring of her cape spoke of wealth, but no lady of quality would be in the park at any time without a chaperone or companion. She looked a little young to be a well-set courtesan, but then he supposed they were all young once. And she certainly seemed too confident for an innocent maiden. Could it be she was some lucky gentleman’s well-paid mistress? She wore no crested rings on her fingers that he could see, so he doubted she was married, but whatever her case may be, ferocious dog or no, she was living much too dangerously for a lady.

“Pardon my question, miss or madame, but is there anything wrong?”

She rose, straightened her shoulders, and looked directly at him once again. Her expression remained confident as she pulled on her glove.