Read Online An Angel for the Earl by Bárbara Metzger - Free Book Online Page B

he’d do his best never to provoke her again, but wondered if such a passionate nature carried over to other situations. Those heaving breasts, the flushed cheeks…
    Of course she did have that freakish layer of prudery. The earl contemplated trying his hand at a little reform himself. After all, even a saint should experience a few of life’s finer things before giving them up. Thinking of some of those finer things, he fell asleep.
    When his head hit the armrest, Lord Stanford awakened enough to take himself upstairs to bed, where the dream continued. Oh, my, yes. There was Lucy calling his name, desperately urging him to hurry. There was that tingle, a frisson, a warm quiver to his face, his bare chest where she was grabbing at him in her frenzy. And there was that wretched smoke. How the devil did anyone make love with their eyes streaming and their throats gasping for fresh air? He coughed and sat up, awake.
    â€œThank goodness! There’s not a minute to spare! Now, hurry!”
    The room was filled with smoke and a distraught Lucy, trying to tug at him. He didn’t see any flames, but the heat was uncomfortable and the smoke was unbreatheable. Staggering to the window, he threw it open and took deep cleansing breaths.
    â€œHurry! The fire!”
    Kerry didn’t wait for another warning. He grabbed up his coat, his purse, some papers, and his boots before hurtling down the stairs. That’s when he saw the flames coming from his study and traveling along the faded Aubusson down the hall. The dry-as-dust wainscoting was smoldering, the ancient paper was curling off the walls. He ran through the great hall toward the front doors, away from the flames and thick smoke, glad for once that the place was no longer filled with priceless treasures.
    Outside he shouted “Fire! Fire!” to draw the attention of the watch, who ran off to alert the fire brigade. He drew on his boots and his greatcoat, stuffing the papers and such in his pockets, and thought of going back for his father’s Mantons.
    Lucy was fluttering around the earl, anxiously patting him to make sure he was intact. “No, no, you mustn’t. The whole place could burst into flames at any minute!”
    Kerry supposed she was right. Besides, now he could buy a new pair if he had to. “Oh, my God, Demby!”
    Racing around the side of the house, Kerry tried the service door. It was locked, of course. He tore off for the kitchen entrance at the rear of the house, and didn’t even bother trying the handle. He just stepped back, then kicked the door in with his booted foot. Lucy was already inside, on her way to the apartment Demby kept near the kitchen, what would have been the housekeeper’s rooms. “Hurry!”
    The smoke was as bad here as on the upper story, the fire having traveled down the bare wooden servants’ stairs. Kerry took two deep inhalations before plunging into the fire cloud.
    Demby was in his bed, not stirring at Kerry’s shout. Not breathing at all, in fact. The earl lifted the smaller man from the bed, blankets and all, and over to the window. Blessing the ground floor, he shoved his valet-cum-housekeeper out the window onto the shrubbery, and leapt out after him, dragging Demby to a safer distance away from the house.
    â€œBreathe, man, breathe,” he urged the gray-skinned man, shaking Demby’s thin shoulders in a futile effort to jolt air into the man’s lungs.
    â€œThe kiss of life,” Lucy directed. “Give him the kiss of life!”
    Kerry stared at her blankly. “The what?”
    â€œBreathe into his mouth, you dolt! Hurry!”
    The earl looked at his servant’s unshaven face, straggly beard, stained mustache, and yellow teeth. “Like hell.”
    â€œConfound you for a gutless jackaninny, just do it.”
    So he did, and shook Demby again for good measure. Demby started to cough and wheeze and gasp for air, but he was