My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(8)
“NO!” screeches Delphine. Although you both have weapons pointed toward her, Delphine rushes forward, knife aloft and ready to do damage. The blade sparkles ferociously in the sunlight. “You will not have this! Not while I still live—”
A gunshot rings out, and for a split second you think Lady Evangeline has fired, has killed her former love. You are startled to see a curious mixture of anguish and relief cross her face as she stares at a figure several feet from you. Following her sapphire gaze, you turn and see a familiar looming presence, silhouetted against the bright sunshine, holding a gun.
“Fabien! But why?!” you cry. He turns to you, his tormented Nile-green eyes even more tormented than usual.
“Because you stopped her from killing me,” he says at last. “Consider our debt settled.”
Before you can respond, he nods at you, holding your gaze for several loaded moments, and then swings himself onto his camel and rides deep into the desert, disappearing as if he were a mirage.
At the sight of their employer’s demise, what remains of Delphine’s hired thugs turn and flee like the mangy scum they are. Your brave battalion of Sekhmets, lionesses each and every one, whoop and cheer.
You barely notice, for Lady Evangeline has pulled you into one of Delphine’s abandoned tents and kisses you fiercely yet tenderly, your bodies entwined as perhaps they had been fated to be all this time.
Well, finally, you two! Turn to this page.
Just then, a woman runs past you in tears. Certainly, a lady fleeing a man’s presence at a ball is understandable, if a bit unusual. However, the lady fleeing this certain man at this certain moment is close to you in years but prettier (alas), dressed in finer clothes than you (double alas), and you suspect that her tears have more to do with the handsome ginger man in military uniform she has just run from than any war, recent or otherwise.
“Now, lassie,” the handsome ginger man—who is none other than the Captain Angus “Mac” MacTaggart to whom Lady Evangeline offered to introduce you but a moment earlier—calls after the woman while shaking his head in frustration. “I didnae come here to engage in…well, never mind! I came here for charity.”
Mac is muscled and broad shouldered, unlike the sleek nobles of the ton that surround him. His is a body that’s seen vigorous activity, and you shudder with longing to know what kind. With eyes the green-brown color of a Highland glen below a Highland moor, and a strangely sad square jaw set with a sensitive poetic mouth, he is a vision of Scottish virility. You can scarcely tear your eyes from his noble visage before Lady Evangeline kicks you sharply in the shin.
“Captain MacTaggart! I long to make your introduction to my dear friend—” Lady Evangeline gestures to you, but Mac dismisses her, not unkindly.
“I’m not one for formalities, lassie, that you know.” His brogue tumbles out like stout into a pint glass. “And I am more than a mite sorry for causing a scene at the ball. I just want to raise money for the other lassies and kiddies who are without their men, as such, due to this awful war. Mother Mary forgive me, I do forget myself and can be a bit rough in my talking. I try to remember I am but speakin’ to the softer sex and not the men out afield. The widows just seem to look for a strong shoulder to cry into and, well, Lady Evangeline, begging your pardon, I feel they get a bit…erm…confused.”
While Mac has been brogue-ing about, he has cast what can only be described as pointedly interested looks in your direction. Several, to be precise. When, of course, he wasn’t rubbing his manly temples with his manly hands and wringing those manly hands of their nervous, manly energy.
Something about his tender, helpful nature, buried in all that muscle and uniform, speaks to a place deep inside you. You slip the gold bracelet off your wrist and hand it to Mac.
“It isn’t much,” you say, by way of introduction, “but it was my mother’s. More valuable than that to you, it is solid gold and perhaps can fetch a sum for your noble cause.”
Lady Evangeline is struck temporarily dumb by your quiet act of kindness, and just as well. It gives you an opportunity to feel the heat of Mac’s rough hands around your own, both of you holding each other (and the bracelet) the way one holds a promise that one intends to keep forever.
Your eyes catch Mac’s for a moment, and you see they are shining with barely contained tears.
“Thank you, lassie,” he manages to whisper. He squeezes your hand in such a way that suggests he would like nothing more than to pull you closer, and that he is moved by your goodness and pluck. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
If you haven’t met Benedict yet, turn to this page.
If you have met Benedict, turn to this page.
Trying to steady your breath, you tiptoe nervously toward the great hall of the museum. Something hairy glances against your shoulder. You nearly scream before you realize it is just a cat who has leapt upon a ledge and is head-butting you.
“Good puss,” you murmur. You rub its head.
Squaring your shoulders, you continue onward to the great hall in your mission for tea. Perhaps Kamal has made some headway in clearing the worst of the debris? Chiding yourself for foolishly fearing something as innocent as a little cat, you step through the doorway…and find yourself pinned down by a rock-hard arm. A heavy hand silences you before you have a chance to scream.