Excerpt of A Gentleman Never Tells by Amelia Grey

“Quiet, Pris,” Brent said.“You’ll wake the hounds of hell with all that noise. Come on, let’s get this walk finished and get back to Mayfair. I promised to take you for a stroll; I didn’t promise I’d do it for any set length of time. I have better things to do today than mollycoddle you.”

They walked a few more feet, and the dog stopped again and started snarling. Her body stiffened, and she lunged forward.  Her eyes fixed on a stand of trees not far away. The hairs on the back of Brent’s neck bristled, and a prickle of something he couldn’t put his finger on moved up his back.  He knew Prissy detected something more than just a rabbit or squirrel rustling the bushes.

She sensed danger.

Brent’s hand tightened on the leash. A chill skittered up his spine, and apprehension caught between his shoulders. He strained to see, hear, or feel whatever was alarming Prissy. And then, through the light mist he saw a figure shrouded in a black hooded cloak walking toward him.

The dog continued with a deep, warning growl. Brent’s gaze never wavered from the person. He paid careful attention to every detail and almost immediately recognized from the slight build, moderate stride, and gentle sway of shoulders it was a woman who approached him. But before he could relax, surprise rode through him when she drew closer with the biggest damn dog he had ever seen, walking calmly, unfettered beside her.

After Prissy’s own start of surprise, his mother’s dog went fiercely crazy, barking fast and loud. She half choked herself with the leash, trying to get to the huge mastiff coming toward them.

“Stop barking, and be still, you silly little devil,” Brent mumbled, holding the dog back.

The young lady stopped a respectful distance from him and regarded him warily. He could barely make out her features, but there was no mistaking her deep blue eyes, full, tempting lips, and alabaster skin so smooth it looked ethereal in the slowly brightening sky.

She took a confident step toward him, a hint of a smile pulling at her mouth. “For such a big man, I would think you’d be confident enough to know how to handle such a darling little dog.”

Brent raised a brow. “If by darling dog you mean this spawn from the gates of hell, then pray tell me, how do you suggest I get her quiet?”

The corners of her beautiful lips lifted even more.

“You quiet animals the same way you calm people, by speaking softly to them.”

He realized he had somehow managed to amuse her. That didn’t sit well with Brent.

“Not this one,” he said, moving the leash from one hand to the other while he continued to assess the lady.

Her smile widened, and his irritation grew.

His voice was a little more than testy when he said, “Don’t try to tell me her shrill barking isn’t piercing to your ears, too?”

She seemed to consider what he’d said before walking even closer. He watched her with deep interest. She was tall; the top of her head reached his chin. Her frame was hidden beneath her heavy cloak, but he had no doubt she was slender and not boyish in her figure. Her gaze stayed boldly on his face, and for some reason, that show of confidence sent heat pulsing through his body.

“Can’t you see your dog isn’t disturbing me or Brutus?”

Brutus?

Her dog was named Brutus?

Oh, hell.

Brent glanced over at her dog. The mastiff looked to be about the size of a small bear and stood completely still and obedient by the woman’s side, acting as if he couldn’t be less interested in the little terror screeching like a banshee at an exorcism. To make matters worse, here he was, well over six feet, holding a small, fancy dog on a leash, while one of the loveliest ladies he’d seen since coming to London was with a dog who looked capable of ending a man’s life with one bite.

Prissy, who obviously had more courage than brains, was still frantically straining to get at the larger dog. Brutus, who could easily swallow Prissy whole, remained calm and undisturbed as a windless night by his mistress’s side.  It was no wonder Brent had made her smile. 

The young lady removed her hood, exposing long golden blonde hair.  Brent swallowed slowly. He had an immediate urge to reach over and gently glide his hand down the silken length of her tumbled locks. He watched in awe as she lifted her hair from beneath her cape, spreading it gloriously over her shoulders.

She had to know how alluring that was. And especially so to a man who hadn’t been with a woman in far too long.

A delicious quiver started in his loins.

There was just enough of a breeze to flutter a stray tendril across her lovely cheek. She quickly brushed it behind her ear.

His breath quickened as she knelt in front of him. She pulled off one short black glove and let Prissy sniff her hand while she spoke softly to her.  The dog stopped barking instantly and allowed the lady to pet her head and gently stroke her back as if they were long-lost friends reunited.

Oh, yes. Brent would be silenced and soothed, too, if she were stroking his head and talking so lovingly to him.

“See, a whisper is always better than a shout.”