Page 5 of Unmasked at Midnight

TEN AWKWARD SECONDS LATER

“Oomph.”

“Oh!”

Honk. Honk.

Bystandersguffawed and tittered, plainly enjoying the unfortunate display.

Cassiusrushed from the bookstore, stopped short, and emitted a sound that was something between a snort and a cough.

Dariuscould well imagine the tableau of him lying sprawled atop the young woman whose face he couldn’t quite make out, given that the pesky goose had now inserted itself between them, nuzzling their heads and flapping his wings.

Cassiuscocked an eyebrow and, with mirth twitching his lips, lifted the broken ladder and set it aside. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“Then don’t,” Darius growled, pushing the goose away, now seemingly intent on making amends for his unchivalrous behavior. The elegant glove which had caused the commotion lay abandoned on the pavement.

“Ahem.”

Dariusglanced downward into round, shockingly green eyes framed by golden-tipped lashes. Several tendrils of her straw-colored hair had escaped her chignon, and the riotous curls poked from her head like miniature springs. She smelled of sunshine and grass and spring flowers.

“Would you please remove yourself from my person?” the unnamed woman asked, her voice slightly breathy.

Andwhy shouldn’t she sound breathless with his six-foot frame pressing her flat as a Scottish oatcake?

Hergoose gave an affronted honk and nipped Darius’s shoulder.

Twice.

“Ouch. Stop that.” He tried to swat at the winged gallant, but the deuced gander scooted aside before diving in again, pecking Darius on the backside, and then swiftly retreated with a goosey cackle.

Devil take it.

Wasthe feathered menace laughing at him?

Thecrowd certainly was.

Cassiushooted in hilarity. “Oh, this is rich.”

“He’s trying to protect me,” the young woman explained, despite her obvious embarrassment, as she dragged a hand from between their bodies to gesture toward the maddening creature. “SirWaddlesby thinks he’s a dog and likes to play fetch with gloves.”

Shakinghis head, Cassius chuckled as he bent and retrieved the glove in question, adorned with exquisite embroidery. “It’s a lovely glove.”

“Harrumph.”

Darius’sattention riveted on a pair of very shiny, very large shoes before he gravitated his focus upward.

Ah, hell⁠—

Hebit back an ungentlemanly oath.

Mouthas tight as a hen’s hind end, Mrs. Clarke glared at him, disapproval fairly radiating off her stiff form. She turned a censorious gaze onto the woman he still half lay upon.

Standingbeside her mother, her forehead creased in a puzzled frown beneath her pink bonnet, Eudora wavered her attention between Darius and his feminine assailant.

“LordDarius? Aren’t you going to get off her?” Eudora asked, her dark eyes wide and guileless, though the merest shadow of annoyance or irritation lurked in their depths.

Dariusshoved to his feet with admirable alacrity, considering his stinging posterior and bruised ego, before plowing a hand through his hair to restore order to the strands poking every which way. A feather floated off his shoulder, and another tickled his cheek. He swiped the offending reminder of the fowlish assault away.