Read Online Bella and the Beast by Olivia Drake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Olivia Drake
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didnât have a place to live. Dammit! He didnât want her here as a permanent fixture, underfoot at all hours, disrupting the peace that allowed him to focus on his work.
He clenched his jaw. âTell Witheridge to put you in the east wing. Now for pityâs sake, get out and leave me alone!â
His thundering delivery didnât appear to dismay Miss Jones in the least. Instead, she merely gave him that bright-eyed smile again and curtsied almost as an afterthought before turning around to make her retreat through the maze of artifacts.
Miles moodily watched until she disappeared through the arched doorway. Then he glanced down at the hieroglyph heâd been working on earlier, but found that he had lost the concentration required to solve it. Rather, he craved to unravel the mystery of Isabella Jones.
He had sensed all along that she was maneuvering him to her own purposes. And he now understood why. She was destitute and in need of employment. Nevertheless, he despised being manipulatedâespecially by a woman.
Perhaps the crux of his irritability was that she stirred his desires. Several weeks had passed since he had visited a certain discreet house in Covent Garden where he could take his pick from a host of nameless beauties. He should go there again. Very soon.
Yet he would prefer to bed Isabella Jones.
Not that she was any great beauty. But she had a bold vitality that gave her charm. Blue eyes big enough to drown a man. And slim, tattooed legs that lent her an aura of the exotic. How he had relished stroking her soft skin, tracing the delicate patterns that made her unique from any other woman heâd ever known. He had wanted to slide his hand higher, to explore her hidden depths â¦
Miles raked his fingers through his hair. Seduction was out of the question. One didnât seduce virginsâand she was certainly that. The shock on her face when he had touched her leg had not been feigned. For that reason alone, he needed to purge her from his thoughts.
It was a difficult task when the signs of her presence lingered here. That damned bonnet still dangled atop the statue of Sekhmet, the lion-faced goddess of war. He could still detect a trace of her feminine scent, something light and intoxicating, alien to the familiar odors of dust and ancient stone. He plucked the dagger from the top of the granite stela and balanced it in his hand. From the carving on the ivory hilt, it appeared to be Persian.
Miles tossed it down onto his papers. The weapon would have to be secured someplace safe. He didnât put it past Isabella Jones to slide the blade between his ribs in a fit of anger over a grievance.
His jaw clenched, he crouched down in front of the stela and absently traced the unknown hieroglyph. What the devil had he done in hiring the woman? Ferreting out information about her father didnât require him to lodge her under his roof. He should have bombarded her with questions instead of allowing her to cajole him. Now he was stuck with an interloper in his sanctum for the next two weeks.
Or not.
He mulled over a possible solution. By God, if he could be quicker about finding out from her what he wanted to know, then the problem would be solved. He could oust her from Aylwin House and resume his well-ordered life so much the sooner.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
A sudden brightness lured Bella from the depths of slumber. She cracked open her eyes to see the hazy outline of a figure drawing back the blue brocade draperies from a wall of windows.
Disoriented, she raised her head from the feather pillow and blinked to focus her vision. The blue and yellow décor and the fine furnishings momentarily confused her. Where was the tiny bedchamber where she and Lila slept? Where were the moth-eaten beige curtains and the little washstand with its chipped porcelain bowl?
Then the events of the previous day returned in a flood of lucidity. She had left her sister and brother in
He clenched his jaw. âTell Witheridge to put you in the east wing. Now for pityâs sake, get out and leave me alone!â
His thundering delivery didnât appear to dismay Miss Jones in the least. Instead, she merely gave him that bright-eyed smile again and curtsied almost as an afterthought before turning around to make her retreat through the maze of artifacts.
Miles moodily watched until she disappeared through the arched doorway. Then he glanced down at the hieroglyph heâd been working on earlier, but found that he had lost the concentration required to solve it. Rather, he craved to unravel the mystery of Isabella Jones.
He had sensed all along that she was maneuvering him to her own purposes. And he now understood why. She was destitute and in need of employment. Nevertheless, he despised being manipulatedâespecially by a woman.
Perhaps the crux of his irritability was that she stirred his desires. Several weeks had passed since he had visited a certain discreet house in Covent Garden where he could take his pick from a host of nameless beauties. He should go there again. Very soon.
Yet he would prefer to bed Isabella Jones.
Not that she was any great beauty. But she had a bold vitality that gave her charm. Blue eyes big enough to drown a man. And slim, tattooed legs that lent her an aura of the exotic. How he had relished stroking her soft skin, tracing the delicate patterns that made her unique from any other woman heâd ever known. He had wanted to slide his hand higher, to explore her hidden depths â¦
Miles raked his fingers through his hair. Seduction was out of the question. One didnât seduce virginsâand she was certainly that. The shock on her face when he had touched her leg had not been feigned. For that reason alone, he needed to purge her from his thoughts.
It was a difficult task when the signs of her presence lingered here. That damned bonnet still dangled atop the statue of Sekhmet, the lion-faced goddess of war. He could still detect a trace of her feminine scent, something light and intoxicating, alien to the familiar odors of dust and ancient stone. He plucked the dagger from the top of the granite stela and balanced it in his hand. From the carving on the ivory hilt, it appeared to be Persian.
Miles tossed it down onto his papers. The weapon would have to be secured someplace safe. He didnât put it past Isabella Jones to slide the blade between his ribs in a fit of anger over a grievance.
His jaw clenched, he crouched down in front of the stela and absently traced the unknown hieroglyph. What the devil had he done in hiring the woman? Ferreting out information about her father didnât require him to lodge her under his roof. He should have bombarded her with questions instead of allowing her to cajole him. Now he was stuck with an interloper in his sanctum for the next two weeks.
Or not.
He mulled over a possible solution. By God, if he could be quicker about finding out from her what he wanted to know, then the problem would be solved. He could oust her from Aylwin House and resume his well-ordered life so much the sooner.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
A sudden brightness lured Bella from the depths of slumber. She cracked open her eyes to see the hazy outline of a figure drawing back the blue brocade draperies from a wall of windows.
Disoriented, she raised her head from the feather pillow and blinked to focus her vision. The blue and yellow décor and the fine furnishings momentarily confused her. Where was the tiny bedchamber where she and Lila slept? Where were the moth-eaten beige curtains and the little washstand with its chipped porcelain bowl?
Then the events of the previous day returned in a flood of lucidity. She had left her sister and brother in
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