Free One Night With a Spy by Celeste Bradley Page A

survivor.
    Oh, this was just perfect. "Bloody hell," Marcus wheezed. "You're someone's blasted pet, aren't you?"
    The Lion leaned down and snuffled his face, drooling enthusiastically on his cheek. Marcus gasped for air as the great weight shifted to press more heavily on his chest.
    "Ge-orff!" He shoved at the broad muzzle with both hands. Stars were beginning to spin before his vision but he noticed the lion's miffed expression as its friendly overtures were refused. Maybe if he kept offending it, it would go away.
    "You're molting"—gasp—"and you drool"—gasp— "and you really ought to chew mint leaves for that breath—"
    The sound of lightly running steps came closer. "Oh!" A feminine noise of disapproval followed. "Shame on you, Mr. Blythe-Goodman! What a terrible thing to say to a poor, defenseless animal!"
    Marcus rolled his eyes upward to see an upside-down Lady Barrowby glaring at him with her fists on her hips.
    "It isn't"—gasp—"listening anyway. Get the bloody thing"—gasp—"
off
!"
    Her expression told him quite plainly that she considered him to be the greatest pansy ever to walk the earth, but she knelt to the grass and held out her arms.
    "Sebastian," she cooed to the colossal, malodorous creature. "Come to Mummy, my darling!"
    The beast finally climbed off Marcus. Unfortunately, it traveled in the direction of its mistress, which meant that the enormous hind feet also left permanent impressions on Marcus's rib cage and he saw more of the undercarriage of the great cat than he truly cared to. It was enough to make a man bloody insecure.
    "Unhh." He rolled to one side and spared a moment to drag sweet, lovely, untainted-by-beast-breath air into his tortured lungs. At least now he knew the secret of the Beast of Barrowby. Alas, the answer only raised more questions.
    His breathing returned to normal and his rib cage apparently still operational, Marcus looked up at the Beauty of Barrowby where she sat with her Beast. His mouth went dry, for she wore a morning gown of some filmy pale blue fabric that draped closely to her curves as she lounged half over the golden beast to scratch the thing on its opposite ear. Her bodice barely won the day against the bounty of her creamy bosom and her golden hair hung loose on her shoulders. Marcus's wayward mind flashed on some of the more erotic passages he'd read in her diary, pelting him with thoughts of bare, wet breasts and round, eager thighs that wrapped hungrily about his waist—
    Yet imagination could not compare with the real woman before him. She was a bountiful pagan goddess of fire and ice—one that made a man consider abandoning his religion to worship at her feet.
    That or ravaging her unto mutual madness, preferably on a lion-skin rug.
    Both were dangerous thoughts for a man on a mission.
    She took her attention off soothing the hurt feelings of the lion long enough to shoot him an assessing glance. "What brings you to Barrowby so
early
today, Mr. Blythe-Goodman?" She laid her head on the beast's broad skull and gazed at Marcus coolly.
    "My deepest apologies, my lady." Marcus made to stand, but one look at the great cat's eerie, alert, golden gaze cautioned him to stay where he was.
    He arranged himself on the ground with somewhat more dignity, leaning on one hand with his other elbow supported by a raised knee. A casual, picnicking sort of pose, not at all as if he feared another round with the Breath of Death. "I was taking my morning constitutional and I fear I strayed too close to Barrowby in my enjoyment of the day."
    The excuse was weak as hell, a fact that could not have escaped her, considering that Barrowby extended for miles in every direction, but she only nodded slowly. "It is lovely in the morning, isn't it?" She smiled down at the lion in her embrace. "Sebastian couldn't bear to stay in his stable on such a warm day."
    "It was a most memorable walk." He gave her his best careless grin. It wasn't as good as Elliot's but it had worked