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Supernatural creatures, be they vampires, werewolves, or ghosts, owed their existence to an overabundance of soul, an excess that refused to die.
Interesting concept...
He probably preferred to wander about bare-chested at home. The idea made her shiver oddly.
That's called arousal, dear. 😉
The earl gave her generous curves a rude once-over, observed that Miss Tarabotti was nicely padded in exactly the right places, and refused to be suckered into becoming sympathetic. He maintained his frown. “I suspect that is precisely what the vampire was thinking when he found you without a chaperone. An unmarried female alone in a room in this enlightened day and age! Why, if the moon had been full, even I would have attacked you!” Alexia gave him the once-over and reached for her brass parasol. “My dear sir, I should like to see you try.”
Jasmine liked this
caramel-colored
Unnecessary to keep reminding us of the color of his eyes, we get it.
It was almost, though not
quite, as embarrassing as having it known that her father was both Italian and dead.
Lord Akeldama never drank anything but champagne. Well, that is to say, except when he was drinking blood. He was reputed to have once said that the best drink in existence was a blending of the two, a mix he referred to fondly as a Pink Slurp.
Alexia was embarrassed to note she tingled a little bit, clearly a reaction to the repulsive state of the man’s office.
Oh, undoubtedly 😏
a most delightful sensation, better than hot tea on a cold morning.
I know it would be weird to shift tone just for the romance parts but this "oh dear tea and crumpets I daresay" tone here is just funny.
Miss Tarabotti lost complete control of her kneecaps,
Her heart was doing crazy things, and she still could not locate her kneecaps. She took a deep breath and put some serious attention into tracking them down.
Alexia’s intentions toward Mr. MacDougall were of an entirely platonic nature. She simply wanted to get out of the house and talk with a person, any person, in possession of an actual working
brain, for a change.
“Full moon,” said Lord Maccon, as though this were some kind of clarification, “is just round the corner.” A pause. “You understand?” Miss Tarabotti had no idea what he was on about. “Uh…” His voice dropped, low, almost ashamed. “Not much control.”
Oooooooh 😍
she was damp in places she was tolerably certain unmarried gentlewomen were not supposed to be damp in.
“Blast it all.” Lord Maccon’s breathing was very rapid. “We have got to stop.” Alexia nuzzled against him. “Why?” “Because pretty bloody soon, I’m not going to be able to.”
“Well, proud Mary’s fat arse!” said the earl eloquently.
Professor Lyall, looking uncomfortable, removed his hat and overcoat and hung them up on the stand just made vacant by vanished Lord Expletive.
He was the type of good farming stock that, when the oxen collapsed from exhaustion, picked up the plow, strapped himself to it, and finished tilling the fields by hand.
Miss Hisselpenny sighed and fluttered her fan. “Ah, for the countryside, what scenery
there abides…,” quoth she. Miss Tarabotti giggled. “Ivy, what a positively wicked thing to say. Bravo.”
The Loontwills returned from their shopping expedition flushed with success. Except for Squire Loontwill, who was now less flush than he had been and wore an expression more often seen on men returning from battle—one that had been badly lost with many casualties. Floote appeared at his elbow with a large glass of cognac. The squire muttered something about Floote-liness being next to godliness and downed the liquor in one gulp.
How did that saying go? Alexia wondered. Ah, yes, “Brash as an American.” Well, they had won their independence somehow, and it was not with politeness.
Alexia hated to do it, but it was always advantageous to undermine one’s enemy’s confidence in one’s intelligence.
Great, Alexia thought, I have gone from soul-sucker to electrical ground. The epithets just get sweeter and sweeter.
Miss Tarabotti decided that there was something excruciatingly erotic about being fully dressed with a large naked man pressed against her from breast to foot.
she did so like it when the earl’s Highland lilt came out. It was currently her second favorite thing he did with his tongue.
Lord Maccon surfaced and looked about, blinking as though he had just woken from sleep: half nightmare, half erotic fantasy.
