The Moonstone and Miss Jones Read Online Free PDF Page B

night.
    America shook her head. “What was that?”
    Edvar licked a few scratches, looking more like a cat than a gargoyle. An eerie chorus of clicking noises echoed along the quay. Her gray protector wrapped a slithery tail around himself and hissed.
    She peered into the darkness. “He’s coming back—with more.”
    Edvar sprang from the roof to the driver’s seat at the back of the hansom. The gray imp gathered up the reins and motioned her back inside.
    She hesitated, then climbed into the cab and opened the trapdoor. Looking up at the little demon she raised both brows. “You’re sure you can do this?”

Chapter Four
     
    A DIM GASLIGHT SPUTTERED ABOVE THE STAIR LANDING . America steadied herself and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness below. The hansom ride from the Docklands to the West End had been one of the most harrowing in her life, with the possible exception of a ride in a rickshaw pulled by a Zulu in Durban, South Africa.
    She squinted and a few details emerged from the flat below, including a shadowy figure in the overstuffed chair. A soft snore rumbled its way up the stair—it was Phaeton, all right. She ventured farther into the room for a better look.
    He lounged in the chair with his pelvis forward, legs spread. America angled her head, studying him. There was a rough of whiskers on his chin; could he look any more dashing? She exhaled a sigh. Only if he opened those liquid brown eyes.
    “A little lower, darling.” He mumbled, still asleep. It suddenly hit her. He was safe. He was healthy. The bilge rat.
    “Darling, is it?” she whispered. Her gaze trailed down his open waistcoat to the buttons on his trousers. As if in answer to her own lascivious thoughts, the buttons began to open.
    She grinned at first—was this some new kind of power emerging? Something ancient and primal fueled by lust? She had noticed a marked increase in her abilities these last few months; there was no question they were getting stronger. She reached out and her hand was slapped away—by what she had no idea. She tried again to reach out and was flung across the flat onto the lumpy old chaise longue.
    America sat up and stared. Something tugged at Phaeton’s trousers—something powerful enough to manipulate the physical world and yet remain unseen. Rising to her feet, she strode across the floor and slapped Phaeton hard across the face.
    He groaned, still in a deep trance. “Just the tip, Georgiana.”
    She slapped him again. “Snap out of it!”
    Jarred awake, Phaeton pushed away from her and blinked—several times. She slapped him again. This time he rubbed his jaw and his eyes watered. “America?” Gradually, between squints and blinks, he came around.
    Her fists landed on her hips. “Who is Georgiana?”
    Phaeton eased back into his chair, though he regarded her with some wariness. “A rather persistent succubus. And you certainly aren’t one of those—thank God.” If it was possible for a man to have sultry eyes, Phaeton had them. Dark lashes lowered over liquid coffee orbs, that weren’t sleepy—just seductive. He tilted his chin and studied her. “Though, I must admit the nasty little vixen has me in some discomfort—would you mind?” He gave a nod to the bulge in his trousers.
    “Stuff it, Phaeton.”
    “Exactly.” A slow grin twitched on the devilish mouth. “I’m just asking.”
    “Goodness, how long has it been?” America rolled her eyes upward, calculating. “Separated for less than two months and already I’d quite forgotten how exasperating you can be.”
    “You followed me—rather sweet of you. I wasn’t sure you would. I thought you would think I jumped ship and sailed off—abandoned you.”
    America’s eyes narrowed into cat slits. “According to your wire, which I received just yesterday, you were shanghaied—in Shanghai.”
    Phaeton shrugged. “Old joke, not particularly amusing anymore.”
    She stared at him. “You must trust me when I say that it was