Free The Short and Fascinating Tale of Angelina Whitcombe by Sabrina Darby

returned to her thigh, but she was unresponsive now, utterly silent.
    â€œYou’ll laugh at me,” she said finally. “I’m not very good.”
    He sat up again. “I won’t laugh, but I’d like to see Auldale through your eyes.”
    Her mouth twisted. At last she shrugged and gestured to the book. “If you must.”
    He hesitated. He’d grown up in a house of women, his mother and sisters, and he knew there were hidden dangers.
    â€œAngelina, if you really prefer I didn’t . . .”
    She let out a disgruntled sigh, picked up the book and thrust it at him. “You are so bloody noble,” she complained. “Just look and see what a fraud I am.”
    He laughed and opened the book.
    And stared. Turned the page, and then turned it again.
    She was not being modest. The work was childish at best, the perspective all wrong and lacking knowledge of most basic tenets of art.
    â€œHave you ever studied drawing?” he asked slowly.
    â€œMe? The child of impoverished actors? Hardly.” She finished with a laugh.
    â€œWould you like—” He broke off, flipping another page. “I could teach you a bit. Draftsmanship was a requirement at the academy.”
    She shot him an indecipherable look, although he struggled to understand it. Then she pulled the book away from him again and tossed it to the side.
    â€œI think I might,” she agreed, “but for now”—her head tilted flirtatiously—“I’d like to explore a different form of art. Sculpture perhaps.” She leaned into him, running her hand down his chest. “You know,” she continued, her voice low, “your body is an incredible specimen. So chiseled . . .” She reached lower, and he sucked in his breath at her hand closing around him. “So . . .”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSo yes,” she repeated. She was teasing him, he knew. But her fingers were stroking, making it difficult to think of anything but enjoying that touch. In fact, he didn’t want to think at all. He watched her hand, pale skin against his, and the sight aroused him even more. Then she ducked her head, and that glorious hair obscured the view but he could feel everything. Her lips, by God, her tongue!
    He sank back on his elbows, closing his eyes. He was delirious. He’d fallen from the ladder, hit his head and entered some strange, erotic waking dream where everything was right with the world.
    And just like that, it wasn’t. He smelled smoke and tasted gunpowder. His ears rang, blocking out all other sound. Desperately, he opened his eyes.
    Angelina.
    She lifted her head, lips curved as if she weren’t aware of any change when, of course, it was all terribly obvious. She crawled up to his side, nestled against him, lifted one leg to rest over him.
    â€œI like the way you taste. The way we taste.”
    He twisted to his side, pulled her close, tightly, one hand around her, the other tangling within the masses of her hair.
    She was solid and real in his arms.
    â€œForgive me, I need a moment,” he whispered against her hair.
    She shifted against him, lifting her head to look at him with those beautiful pale eyes. Unquestioning, soft.
    â€œWe have all the time in the world, John,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere.” She laid her head down against his chest, the softness of her cheek pressed against his heart.
    She felt perfect there and for the first time he imagined her staying.
    He let out a breath he hadn’t known he held.
    S he listened to the sound of his heart beating fast in his chest. Not all men were ready for a second round of lovemaking shortly after the first. Or maybe there was something else. She didn’t know what had happened, but she knew she should say nothing. Let him take the lead.
    As her body cooled, her own pulse slowed, the castle took over her thoughts. The castle and the dales outside, the