Excerpt of Triumph and Treasure by Collette Cameron

Angelina had no business taking note of any gentleman’s
appearance, especially his mouth. And what in heaven’s
blessed name was she doing sitting in a tree, talking
with him as if they were making polite conversation in a
drawing room? She didn’t even know his name, for pity’s
sake.

“Can you get down yourself?”

He dismounted. After removing his gloves and hat, he
placed them on the same boulder she’d used for her
stockings. He spied her discarded belongings, his gaze
pausing on a stocking dangling from a bush. A purely
masculine smile bowed his mouth.

Mortification swept her.

He held his riding crop as he purposefully made his way
to the tree. He placed a booted foot atop the branch
resting on the ground. “Here, I’ll come up.”

“No, I can manage perfectly on my own. You assure that
devil keeps his distance.”

Sure-footed, Angelina edged along, her bare feet gripping
the limb beneath her. Her injured toe protested, but the
pain was unimportant. She must make haste. It wouldn’t do
to be discovered with a man without a chaperone present.

The stranger released a hearty chuckle and raised the
crop. “That’s what this is for. One or two sound smacks
on his muzzle usually does the trick nicely.”

Usually?

“And what happens if it doesn’t do the trick?” She
maneuvered the last few inches to the fork in the tree.

The gentlemen pointed the crop at the tree. “We run for
it. He’s not named Deamhan for nothing.”

She sniffed. “Deamhan? Oh, that’s Scottish?”

“Yes, Gaelic for demon.”

“A most fitting name. Only Satan would be more
appropriate.”

Shoving hair off her face, she stepped onto the lowest
limb and hesitated a moment before taking his
outstretched hand. She nearly jerked hers away when a
jolt of sensation vibrated clear to her shoulder.

Once safely on the ground, she disengaged her hand.
“Thank you.”

“I’d bow before I introduce myself, but I don’t trust
him.” Gesturing toward the dozing bull, the man flashed
perfect white teeth.

Of course they were. Just like Charles’s. And what a
bounder he’d turned out to be.

New rule.

Don’t trust men with nice teeth.

She met the gentleman’s curious perusal.

Or beautiful eyes and sinfully thick lashes.

“I’m Flynn, Ear—” A grimace shadowed his face. “Marquis
of Bretheridge. My estate, Lambridge Manse, borders these
lands.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Should she curtsy? A little late for conventions. Best to
get on her way as soon as possible.

Not trusting the behemoth resting a stone’s throw away,
Angelina warily gathered her belongings.

The marquis’s focus sank to her bare feet.

Muddy toes, one bloody, peeked from beneath her soaked
and soiled skirt.

She swore his mouth quivered in amusement.

The first English peer she’d met besides her uncle, and
she resembled a street urchin. Aunt Camille would have
apoplexy if she found out. And Uncle Ambrose?

Gads.

Angelina didn’t want to imagine his reaction. His
response would be unpleasant to be sure.

She made to turn toward the house. “Thank you, again.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me who you are?” Lord
Bretheridge regarded her expectantly.

In another time and in another place, she might have—
before she learned not to trust.