Free Quick, Amanda by Mischief

trouble than
    he is worth."
    I would not be surprised if he is saying precisely the same thing
    about you at this very moment, my dear."
    Imogen did not respond. She turned her attention back to the
    countryside that was passing by outside the carriage window.
    Fragments of the dream that had awakened her in the middle of
    the night returned. She'd had similar dreams for the past several
    weeks, but last night's imaginings had been the clearest and most
    disturbing.
    She was standing in the library of Uncle Selwyn's mansion. It
    was midnight. Pale moonlight slanted through the windows.
    Shadows bathed the chamber and its sepulchral furnishings.
    She turned slowly, searching for the man she knew was there.
    She could not see him. She had never seen him. But she sensed his
    presence. He was waiting, cloaked in deepest night.
    Something or someone stirred in the darkest corner of the
    chamber. She watched with trepidation as a figure detached
    himself from the surrounding shadow and walked slowly toward
    her. His face was concealed by the gloom, but when he moved
    through a patch of moonlight she saw the glint of cold silver in his
    hair.
    Zamaris, Lord of the Night. Powerful, seductive. And very
    dangerous.
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    He came closer, his hand outstretched.
    Not Zamaris, she realized. Colchester.
    Impossible.
    But for some reason, she could not seem to differentiate
    between the two. Colchester and Zamaris had coalesced into one
    single creature of the night.
    She looked at the hand that he held out to her and saw blood
    dripping from his long, elegant fingers.
    He was going to regret becoming involved with Miss Imogen
    Waterstone, Matthias told himself for what was no doubt the
    thousandth time since he had arrived in London. She was already
    having a damaging effect on his powers of concentration.
    He set down his quill and gazed unseeingly at the notes he was
    making for his next article in the Review. Thus far he had covered
    less than half of a sheet of foolscap with his speculations on
    Zamarian rituals. Thoughts of Imogen's imminent arrival in Town
    kept intruding.
    She and Horatia were due to arrive that day. Her wild, reckless
    plan would no doubt be set in motion shortly thereafter. All she
    required were a few invitations to the right levees and balls.
    Horatia seemed convinced they could be obtained.
    Matthias rose from his chair and walked around the corner of
    his vast ebony desk. He went to stand in front of the fire, aware of
    a deep, gnawing restlessness. It had been troubling him since he
    had returned to London.
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    He was a fool to become embroiled in Imogen's mad scheme.
    The only positive note that he could see in the murky picture was
    that the damnable plot was highly unlikely to work.
    Unfortunately, there would doubtless be some extremely trying
    moments ahead before Imogen would be convinced to give up her
    grand plan of vengeance. Matthias glumly contemplated the fact
    that it would be up to him to keep her out of trouble until she
    accepted defeat.
    She was determined to set forth on a path fraught with the
    threat of scandal and danger. Matthias considered her scheme
    once more, attempting to be objective. He did not believe that
    Vanneck had actually murdered his wife. Vanneck was a sly, dissipated, unprincipled rake who had an
    unpleasant reputation in the
    brothels and hells, but he did not strike Matthias as a killer. The
    ruthless seduction of an innocent, naive young lady such as
    Imogen was more Vanneck's style. Matthias's hand flexed into a
    tight fist at his side.
    "
    He closed his eyes and thought about the way Imogen had
    responded to him when he had taken her into his arms. A wave of
    sweet, searing heat went through him, stoking the fire that had
    been smoldering in his loins since he had left Upper Stickleford.
    He could not remember the last