In The Devil's Stables (Spirited #1)

Chapter 16

Greyson stumbled up the stairs of the inn, exasperated.

Moments before, he had been congratulating himself for his clever maneuverings. He had found a way to keep his eye on the thoroughly troublesome Lady Charlotte who seemed to have a knack for finding herself in peculiar situations.

Or, he thought with a growl, should he say, Charlie?

Not very creative as a name, Greyson had to say. But damned if that was the most pressing issue at hand.

His pride had been pricked until it was nothing more than a cushion of pins, deflated. Greyson had left the stables with his tail tucked between his breeches.

The blasted woman had told them - all the various members of London's gentry and commoners - told them all that he actually resorted to something so debase as biting a man.

Biting, for God's sake!

Any honorable man worth his salt would have been adequately trained in boxing. The art of fighting. Of sparring.

She had made him look foolish.

Then the lady had informed all and sundry how he had been knocked unconscious while the bloody she-devil herself had deftly brandished a knife. Saving his life while ridding the inn of its unwanted thieves.

The proprietor had looked confused and equally impressed after her fibbed tall tale. "Well," he had said, observing Charlie as if she were a rare creature, before the man had turned to him. "It seems you have a swell lad under your tutelage, Claymore."

He snorted, the sound reverberating in the hallway of the inn. He halted abruptly on the staircase, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the girl hadn't given him the slip.

As he was coming to find out, one could never predict Lady Charlotte. She had courage - and perhaps a lick of fooldhardiness - in spades.

Granted, mayhap Greyson had earned her ire, but he had seen a chance to force Charlie's hand - the most efficient method to watch over her, up close, with no one the wiser - so he had taken it. Greyson wouldn't have actually informed the constable, but then the chit hadn't the slightest idea that he knew Charlie was, in actuality, Lady Charlotte.

It was quite the muddle.

It all led, however, to this moment. He wasn't letting her out of his sight.

Greyson faced her, noticing the way Charlie was glancing over her own shoulder as if determining her chances of escaping his clutches. She almost ran into him, so immersed was she in her musings. Her body wobbled as her boots came to a halt, her hands waving about before she regained her feet.

"I wouldn't try it, were I you." He growled.

Charlie's brows shot up, her eyes wide in her face.

Greyson stepped down a stair, leaning in close. "I wouldn't suggest you try to run now, lad. I would find you. Make no mistake."

He watched her swallow, her breath coming short and shallow in her chest.

"Moreover, I wouldn't be as understanding as I am now if you make me chase you down."

If anything, Charlie's breath seemed to stop. Her lips parted, and her breath whooshed out in a gust, her eyes falling half mast. Damn, he thought, something had caused desire to light her veins.

His breeches tightened about his member and his eyes shuttered themselves as he took in her flushed face. The slight quiver of her lower lip.

Greyson wished with all he had that he could read Charlie's thoughts, what had brought the rosy-pink blush to tint her cheeks. He knew where his own thoughts had gone. It would be a simple matter, Greyson knew. With his mouth diving onto hers, his hands tilting her face just so, taking her mouth how he wanted to. How he needed to.