The Prince of Midnight Read Free Page B

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don't whine, old chap—you can't stop me. It's a bloody awful risk, I know. I
don't fancy my chances above half." He stood up, looking down at the wolf. "But
mind you, pal, if I don't come back—" he gave Nemo a shake "—I want you to have
my share of the cheese."
    Nemo prostrated himself in abject humility, yelping faintly and trying to
lick S.T.'s hand. S.T. pushed him over onto his side, scratched his belly, and
left him lolling on his back in exuberant disgrace.
    She watched S.T. as he approached, her dark, slanted brows drawn down with
far more doubt than when she'd eyed the wolf. He offered the flowers silently.
    For a long moment, she stared down at the little bouquet in his hand, and
then looked up into his eyes. He smiled.
"Bienvenue, mon enfant,
" he
said softly.
    Her lower lip twitched. Suddenly those superb blue eyes were glazed with
tears. She whacked his hand away with a hard fist. Flowers went flying, and the
scent of crushed lavender drifted on the air. "Don't do that," she snarled,
fierce as Nemo. "Don't look at me that way."
    S.T. took a startled step back, nursing his hand. She possessed a dashed
convincing right punch. "As you please," he said wryly, and then added with
deliberation,
"monsieur."
    The glisten in her eyes was gone as quickly as it had come. Her jaw grew
stiff and belligerent. She shook back her head and gave him a cold stare. "When
did you realize?"
    "That you're a girl?" He shrugged. "Yesterday." He held up one broken stem of
rockrose and examined it ruefully. "When you smiled."
    She scowled. "I'll take care to frown."
    He flicked the rose into the dirt. "That ought to answer. You certainly
unnerve Nemo and me."
    She glanced past him at the wolf. S.T. imagined running his finger along the
smooth plane of her cheek, warming to the color that burned there.
    "That's Nemo?" She gave a little decisive jerk of her head. "You've trained
him well. I never saw you call him off."
    S.T. turned toward the wolf. "Did you hear that? Well-trained. Come here and
prove it, then." He whistled a command.
    Nemo bounded forward. He stopped a yard away.
    "Come along." S.T. whistled again, pointing at his feet.
    The wolf trotted to one side, then turned and loped to the other, making an
arc around them. When S.T. called him a third time, he crouched down and began
to whine.
    "I shouldn't wonder if you were quivering in terror at this spectacle," S.T.
said.
    She seemed slow to understand, watching Nemo with her back stiff and her
lower lip set in a vaguely scandalized fullness. "He's really afraid?"
    "It's women. Females petrify him." He nudged his boot at one of the flowers
in the dirt. "No doubt he has his reasons."
    A faint curve appeared at the corner of her mouth. She stared at Nemo with
that little half smile but said nothing. On his side, S.T. stared at her. Her
lips, her skin, the curve of her throat. He felt somewhat scarce of breath.
    "I thought it was a test," she said.
    He lifted his eyes to hers with a wrench of focus. "What?"
    "I thought—you meant to test me. To see how I would face him."
    "Oh, quite. And you passed. You're heroically stupid, I can see that. God
knows I wouldn't have had the pluck to walk up to the snarling brute." He tilted
his head, lost in the amazing depth of her eyes. "Of course, he'd tear the
throat out of a man who made that mistake."
    Nemo gave a long moan and rolled over in the dirt, wriggling and snorting as
he tried to scratch his back. Then he relaxed belly-up, paws limp, looking
toward S.T. with his tongue lolling in a canine grin.
    "Well, you would, y'know." S.T. flicked his hand, signaling abruptly. "Get
up, you great boor; there's a lady present. Go on with you. Hunt us up a
pheasant."
    Instantly, Nemo flipped over and scrambled to his feet. He sprang into his
long lope and headed for the gate, already lowering his nose to cast for scent.
As he disappeared, the ducks outside broke into a raucous quacking and then
subsided.