The Marsh Hawk (43 page)

“I fail to see the humor in this,” she said frostily.

“The humor in it, my wonderful, beautiful Jenna, is that you presume it to be the only mask I own.”

“Oh!” she cried, pounding his chest with playful fists. “Simon Rutherford, if you ever, even for a moment, entertain the thought of—”

His warm mouth swallowed the rest as he pulled her closer still. It was no use. His kisses held sway over her heart, mind, and soul. And she surrendered to the promise of his passion, melting against the lean, turgid length of him as the coach rumbled on through the misty green darkness toward what promised to be a very provocative future.