The Last Leprechaun
June Calvin

Excerpt

A stolen kiss.

She had last seen John Blayne, now the Earl of Wayneathe, at their great-grandfather’s funeral when she was fifteen. He had been eighteen, and so handsome she could barely bring herself to look at him.

Before her now stood the very personification of masculine perfection. Tall, slender, yet broad of shoulder and muscular of leg, he wore no uniform tonight but that of town buck, with pantaloons that fit him like skin and a coat very nearly as closely tailored. She had seen no one whom the Brumwellian fashion for black coat and snowy white cravat suited so well.

Elizabeth swallowed hard and took her courage in hand. She couldn’t just stand here and admire him, especially as he was doing the same to her, in a way she found unsettling.

“Well, John?” She advanced toward him. “Have you forgotten your cousin?”

“I’ve a great many such cousins, my dear, and am indeed having trouble placing you.” As he spoke he advanced upon her, wicked purpose in his eyes. Before she could quite grasp his intention, much less formulate a response, he put his arm around her waist and scooped her close to him, pressing a decidedly un-cousinly kiss on her lips.