Hi there! I don’t know if you guys remember me; it has been a while. I really am sorry to have been neglecting this blog for so long, but between assignments, exams and Tumblr, I haven’t had much time to talk books. But I’m back! And I need to catch up. I am waaaaaay late for October’s book of the month, but rather late than never, right?
I’ve decided that my favourite read for October was A Beginner’s Guide to Rakes by Suzanne Enoch. I absolutely adored Diane, our heroine. She had a sharp tongue and the zingers that flew between her and Oliver had me rolling around laughing. Everything was just so good. I probably shouldn’t have found this particular scene so funny, but I couldn’t help it. So here it is:
Dianne dropped the spent pistol onto the table. She couldn’t very well return it to the small band tied around her thigh, because the barrel was quite hot. And the room still seemed to echo with the loud roar.
In the doorway, Oliver staggered around to face her. “You shot me!”
“It’s not as though I didn’t warn you,” she returned, lowering her skirt from where she’d lifted it to get the pistol.
“You kissed me back! Shoot yourself if you’re angry at someone for that!”
“Oh. I’m not certain I agree with you, but I’ll remember for next time.”
He clapped his right hand over his left shoulder. “See that you do,” he snarled, and stumbled to his knees.
Jenny charged into view and then skidded to a halt, Margaret at her hills. “What-Margaret, fetch water and bandages. And keep the men downstairs. Tell them we shot a mouse.”
“You’re very quick with the excuses,” Oliver noted, sinking onto his backside and no longer looking particularly alarmed.
“Yes, well, I’ve had practice.” Jenny turned her head to look up at Dianne. You shot him? she mouthed.
“He kissed me,” she whispered back. And now she supposed she needed to assist Jenny, to keep the rat from expiring on her floor. Because that would certainly frighten away potential members.
“Diane, do you need smelling salts?”
“No! I’m fine.” What a silly question. Though she did seem to be swaying a bit. Diane gripped the edge of the table. For God’s sake, she’d shot Oliver Warren. Yes, she disliked him-well, not precisely disliked, but loathed maybe. Or wanted to punch him in the nose-but not enough to shoot him. It was just that he’d-he’d kissed her. And that he’d been correct just then. She’d kissed him back, even knowing that he’d fled her bed like a fox with its tail on fire.
“Come and help me with his jacket,” Jenny instructed, her voice sharp.
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Blinking, Diane moved forward and knelt beside him to yank [Oliver’s] jacket down his arms.
Oliver cursed blackly, using a selection of profanity so varied that some of it she’d never heard before. “I’ll do it,” he barked, pushing her back with his elbow.
One of the maids arrived with water and cloths, then hurried away again. This wouldn’t be the first test of her household’s discretion, but a shooting would be of far more temptation and interest to everyone than a countess’s monochromatic wardrobe. Better to know now if they could be trusted, she supposed, rather than later.
“It looks to be a deep graze, my lord,” Jenny said, ripping the sleeve of Oliver’s lawn shirt off at the shoulder. “No ball to dig out.”
“And yet I don’t feel so very grateful,” Oliver retorted.
“Be thankful that I can aim, then,” Diane commented, sticking her finger through the hole in his jacket sleeve and attempting to rid her head of the last of its cobwebs. “And that I decided your heart was too shriveled to make a decent target.”
A Beginner’s Guide to Rakes: pg 84-86