Your Darkest Dream (Blackwood & Friends #2)

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The Night Before the Wedding

It was the terribly off-key singing that caught his attention first.

Enduring yet another sleepless night, Nate had decided that a midnight snack may be in order and had wandered down to the kitchen larder. Mostly this was done out of boredom as the confines of his chamber seemed almost cloying. Were he residing at his club, he would have wrapped his fists in binds and punished a bag filled with sand, but there was to be no such respite this night since he was one of the few revered wedding guests staying at the grand Northwick Estate that was just over an hour at best from the city, depending on the state of the roads.

It was while he was clambering back to his chambers situated in another wing of the manor house that he had heard the ear-offending screeching that caused his shoulders to hunch in retaliation. The sound originated from the library which veered off to the left of the entrance hall he was in the process of crossing. He knew that voice, he could identify it no matter the octave, and he hesitated briefly before making a decision.

Nate crossed the parquet floor and froze on the threshold to the library at the sight afforded to him. Blanche Blackwood had her profile turned as she sat cross-legged on the rug before the hearth, a fire blooming cosily behind the grate and washing her in its luminescent golden glow. It caught in the strands of her unbound hair falling around her shoulders, so long it curled in soft waves to almost her hips, casting a few bronzed streaks to frame her face. She was in a simple night rail, tied at the base of her neck with a fetching little pink bow. Before her sat a bottle of wine that was almost empty, the last few inches of the dark liquid indicating that she had quite possibly pilfered a bottle of expensive red from the cellars, and beside her the wretchedly trembling dog that was currently staring up at her in adoration while it wagged its tiny tail at its mistress's disastrous vocal cords.

She was achingly beautiful in this light, so uninhibited and... evidently foxed as she suddenly belched softly, gasped in surprise, then scowled down at her dog in mock affront. "Penelope! I say, how dare you? Atrociously unladylike, that."

Penelope trembled in agreement, turning in one jittery circle of delight.

"No, no," Blanche continued, happily still addressing the dog, "your contrition won't suffice this time! You simply must aspire to be the epitome of a true lady." She dragged the hound into her lap, kissing the top of her little head, right between the eyes. "We shall have to enrol you in comportment lessons," she continued, blithely unaware of his amused presence lurking in the doorway, "first thing in the morning."

Nate stepped into the room and the movement caught her attention sharply.

So sharply in fact that the momentum caused her body to list to the side and topple over completely, sprawling her out on the palms of her hands as Penelope darted out the way.

"Perhaps instead of the dog, you should enrol yourself first," he told her with a crooked smile, coming to stand before her.

She glared at his bare feet for a moment before she lifted her gaze to pulverize him through a curtain of dark tresses. Christ, she was such a gorgeous mess his heart almost burst at the sight. She was twisted on her hip, her chest splayed against the floor, and the sheer cotton of her night rail stretched over her waist and thighs tightly in her awkward position. How the devil such a tiny thing like herself had an arse so deliciously proportioned would plague his most inner thoughts and secret desires well into the night.

"You have hairy toes," she told him with a sneer, lurching herself upright once more and turning away from him to stare at the fire burning mutely behind the grate, back rigid and shoulders stiff.