Read Online A Dark and Brooding Gentleman by Margaret McPhee - Free Book Online

here.
    ‘I returned your book.’ She could feel the water dripping from her hair over her shoulders, rolling down over her arms, which were bare to Hunter’s perusal if heshould choose to look, but his gaze did not stray once from her own.
    ‘How did my mother enjoy
Evelina?’
‘Well enough, I believe.’ Phoebe spoke calmly, and stayed focused.
    He said nothing, but there was a tiny flicker of a muscle in his jaw.
    She shivered, but whether it was from the cooling of her skin or the burning intensity of Hunter’s eyes she did not know. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, sir.’
    His gaze shifted then, swept over her bare shoulders, over the dress she clutched to her breast, down to her bare feet and the puddle of loch water that was forming around them. And she blushed with embarrassment and anger, and most of all with the knowledge that she could be attracted to such a man.
    ‘Really, Mr Hunter! How dare you?’ Hunter’s eyes met hers once more. He did not look away, but he did step aside to let her reach the door.
    She edged past him, keeping her back to the door so that he would not see the full extent of her undress. Her hand fumbled behind at the door knob. The door did not open. Phoebe twisted it to the left. The door did not yield. Then to the right. Still nothing happened.
    She rattled at the blasted knob, panicking at the thought she would have to turn round and in the process present Hunter with a view that did not bear thinking about.
    Hunter moved, closing the distance between them. Phoebe gave a gasp as his hand reached roundbehind her. He was so close she could smell his soap, his cologne, the very scent that was the man himself. Her heart was thudding so hard she felt dizzy. And as Hunter stared down at her she could see the sudden darkening blaze in his eyes, could sense the still tension that gripped his large powerful male body, could feel the very air vibrate between them. The edge of his sleeve brushed against her arm. And part of her dreaded it and, heaven help her, part of her wanted to feel the touch of those strong firm lips. To be kissed, to be held by such a strong dangerous man. She squeezed her eyes closed and clutched the dress all the tighter.
    Cool air hit against her skin and she heard the sound of booted steps receding along the passageway. She opened her eyes to find Hunter gone and the door to her chamber wide open behind her.
    Hunter paused as the clock upon his study mantel chimed eight and then looked across his desk at McEwan, who was sitting in the chair opposite and waiting with the air of a man much contented. Hunter swallowed back the bitterness.
    ‘You are up and about early this morning, Hunter.’ Hunter saw McEwan eye the still half-full brandy decanter, but his steward was wise enough to make no comment upon it.
    ‘I have things on my mind,’ said Hunter and frowned again as he thought of Miss Allardyce.
    ‘What do you make of my mother’s companion?’
    ‘I cannot say I have noticed her,’ McEwan confessed.
    ‘Hell’s teeth, man, how could—?’ Hunter stopped, suddenly aware of revealing just how much he had noticed Miss Allardyce himself. In his time he hadknown diamonds of the
ton,
actresses whose looks commanded thousands and opera singers with the faces of angels, all of whose beauty far exceeded that of his mother’s companion. And yet there was something about Phoebe Allardyce, something when she looked at him with those golden-brown eyes of hers that affected Hunter in a way no woman ever had. He took a breath, leaned back in the chair and looked at McEwan.
    ‘She seems much as any other lady’s companion I have met,’ McEwan offered. ‘Why are you asking?’
    Hunter hesitated.
    The clock ticked loud and slow.
    ‘I do not trust her,’ he said at last.
    McEwan’s brows shot up. ‘What has she done?’
    ‘Nothing … at least nothing solid I can confront her with.’ He thought of her visits to his study, and the telltale hair upon his desk