Read Online A Wicked Lord at the Wedding by Jillian Hunter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jillian Hunter
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shoulder, and clumped back to the window.
Only one more peek, she promised herself.
Just one. Maybe he would look up and remember she was waiting for him. Maybe he would even remember that they were married and he’d promised he would never go missing again. Husband and arrogant guardian, her left foot.
Oh! She thought she could make out his tall, mist-enshrouded figure hurrying off in the direction of the square. Was he running after something, or away?
“Coward,” she whispered. “You aren’t brave enough to face me.”
She shook her head, backing away in rueful disappointment. Now where had he gone? To sleep on his beloved boat?
Well, in her opinion if he’d left her again, he belonged at the river with the rest of the rats in London. She bent to remove her other boot, disgusted with herself for hoping tonight would be any different.
But it
had
been different. She hadn’t imagined the heat that had flared between them in the carriage.
“Here,” a silky voice whispered over her shoulder. “Let me get that for you. I don’t know how you managed while I was away.”
She twisted, lost her balance, and fell—flustered—into his arms. He lifted her effortlessly, enfolding her in his steady grasp.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said in an embarrassingly low voice. “I thought you’d gone down the street.”
“What ever for?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve waited for you in vain.”
He clasped her hands and led her toward the bed, agilely sidestepping the hat, cap, and boot she had left on the floor. He didn’t comment upon the mess, but she saw his brow lift.
He looked up at her with a smile she had dreamed about. “I thought you might want a few moments to prepare,” he said after a heavy silence, his gaze piercing her.
“For—?” Not that she couldn’t guess what he meant.
His strong hands settled on her shoulders. “For us to be man and wife again.”
What a beautiful sentiment.
What gall.
Still, a bolt of heat streaked through her body. She didn’t care if she were dreaming or not. He stood like a tower of Damascus steel—hard, beautiful to behold, tempting to touch.
“But you’re still dressed,” he added with a
tsk
of disappointment.
She stared at him in fascination. What was happening to her resolve? She knew how unreliable hewas. And yet … “I wasn’t sure you were coming back. I watched you from the window.”
“At least you’ve taken off your whiskers,” he said with a teasing grin.
She glanced inadvertently at the cheval glass behind him. His reflection was all she could see. Masterful, dark, and wicked. He was really home.
He guided her by the shoulders, his voice deep and lulling. “I don’t mind being of service in these matters.”
“So you’ve said,” she whispered, bracing her hand against the bedpost.
“You always were a perceptive woman,” he murmured.
“You were easy to perceive once. I can’t say the same now.”
“My motives are quite straightforward,” he said.
“Even if your methods of achieving them are not.”
“Dearest, you have developed such a suspicious mind.”
She laughed at that. “Well, you know what they say. ‘An idle mind is the devil’s workshop.’ And you left me idle for long enough.”
“But your devil is back,” he countered. “And he has several surprises planned for those idle hands of yours.”
Her breath caught.
She nodded slowly. “All right. I’m game.”
A smile crossed his face. “I thought you might be.”
“Aren’t we sure of ourselves?”
“I have so much to make up for.”
“What—”
“Let me show you.” His hands wandered down her back. “Hold still.”
And a moment later he had not only untied the myriad black laces that crossed her back, but also those of the corset beneath. The distinct popping of intricately stitched threads broke the silence that had fallen. She was too startled to protest.
Another ruthless tug or two, and she stood naked under
Only one more peek, she promised herself.
Just one. Maybe he would look up and remember she was waiting for him. Maybe he would even remember that they were married and he’d promised he would never go missing again. Husband and arrogant guardian, her left foot.
Oh! She thought she could make out his tall, mist-enshrouded figure hurrying off in the direction of the square. Was he running after something, or away?
“Coward,” she whispered. “You aren’t brave enough to face me.”
She shook her head, backing away in rueful disappointment. Now where had he gone? To sleep on his beloved boat?
Well, in her opinion if he’d left her again, he belonged at the river with the rest of the rats in London. She bent to remove her other boot, disgusted with herself for hoping tonight would be any different.
But it
had
been different. She hadn’t imagined the heat that had flared between them in the carriage.
“Here,” a silky voice whispered over her shoulder. “Let me get that for you. I don’t know how you managed while I was away.”
She twisted, lost her balance, and fell—flustered—into his arms. He lifted her effortlessly, enfolding her in his steady grasp.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said in an embarrassingly low voice. “I thought you’d gone down the street.”
“What ever for?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve waited for you in vain.”
He clasped her hands and led her toward the bed, agilely sidestepping the hat, cap, and boot she had left on the floor. He didn’t comment upon the mess, but she saw his brow lift.
He looked up at her with a smile she had dreamed about. “I thought you might want a few moments to prepare,” he said after a heavy silence, his gaze piercing her.
“For—?” Not that she couldn’t guess what he meant.
His strong hands settled on her shoulders. “For us to be man and wife again.”
What a beautiful sentiment.
What gall.
Still, a bolt of heat streaked through her body. She didn’t care if she were dreaming or not. He stood like a tower of Damascus steel—hard, beautiful to behold, tempting to touch.
“But you’re still dressed,” he added with a
tsk
of disappointment.
She stared at him in fascination. What was happening to her resolve? She knew how unreliable hewas. And yet … “I wasn’t sure you were coming back. I watched you from the window.”
“At least you’ve taken off your whiskers,” he said with a teasing grin.
She glanced inadvertently at the cheval glass behind him. His reflection was all she could see. Masterful, dark, and wicked. He was really home.
He guided her by the shoulders, his voice deep and lulling. “I don’t mind being of service in these matters.”
“So you’ve said,” she whispered, bracing her hand against the bedpost.
“You always were a perceptive woman,” he murmured.
“You were easy to perceive once. I can’t say the same now.”
“My motives are quite straightforward,” he said.
“Even if your methods of achieving them are not.”
“Dearest, you have developed such a suspicious mind.”
She laughed at that. “Well, you know what they say. ‘An idle mind is the devil’s workshop.’ And you left me idle for long enough.”
“But your devil is back,” he countered. “And he has several surprises planned for those idle hands of yours.”
Her breath caught.
She nodded slowly. “All right. I’m game.”
A smile crossed his face. “I thought you might be.”
“Aren’t we sure of ourselves?”
“I have so much to make up for.”
“What—”
“Let me show you.” His hands wandered down her back. “Hold still.”
And a moment later he had not only untied the myriad black laces that crossed her back, but also those of the corset beneath. The distinct popping of intricately stitched threads broke the silence that had fallen. She was too startled to protest.
Another ruthless tug or two, and she stood naked under
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