Read Online Desired by a Lord (Regency Unlaced 5) by Carole Mortimer - Free Book Online
Authors: Carole Mortimer
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Whitney’s lust by keeping him at arm’s length for just a little longer? She may be a bitch in heat, but she is also siren enough to know that if she capitulates too soon, there will be nothing to gain and everything to lose.
Whether she intends to share Whitney’s bed tonight or another night, the witch cannot be allowed to ensnare yet another man in her supposed innocence and vulnerability. To lure Whitney into her spider’s web, with those huge green eyes that appear so guileless but hide a multitude of sins.
Her mother’s death.
Her father’s suicide.
Her husband’s demise mere months ago.
Someone must ensure she suffers for her sins of pride, lust, and greed.
And someone must protect Whitney from falling prey to those same sins.
That someone will be me.
Chapter 8
“Emily…?”
She gave herself a mental shake as she realized she had allowed her thoughts to drift in the middle of Whitney speaking to her.
Not that Whitney was in the least boring. He was far too intensely male to ever be that. Nor was he a gentleman she, or anyone else, would ever be able to overlook or ignore. Not only because of his dashing good looks and confident manner: his conversation, as they ate the rest of their dinner, had been both interesting and amusing, as he told her some of the funnier stories of Society. No doubt with the intention of putting Emily at ease.
He might have succeeded too, if not for the feeling she’d had all evening, and could not seem to shake, that she was being watched. That she and Whitney both were being watched.
Perhaps she had been wrong earlier and one or more of Whitney’s servants did bear him ill feelings? To the extent they spied upon him, and eavesdropped on his conversation?
Whatever or whoever was responsible for Emily’s feelings of discomfort during dinner—the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end, and cold shivers ran up and down the length of her spine—that feeling of being watched had dissipated only once they left the dining room and retired to Whitney’s study.
“Thank you.” She accepted the glass of brandy Clarke handed to her. She and Whitney were now seated opposite each other in the two armchairs placed either side of the warming fire, the curtains drawn against the night outside.
“Have you seen the library yet?” Whitney prompted once he had dismissed Clarke for the night.
Emily shot Whitney a mischievous smile. “I would not dare to presume to venture inside until I am given permission.”
“I am fast coming to appreciate there is little you would not presume or dare to do if you have a mind to do it,” he drawled dryly.
Her eyes widened. “I have no idea how you might have come by such a disagreeable opinion of me.”
“It was not meant as a criticism. I admire your determination and fortitude.”
“You do?”
“I do,” Xander confirmed, watching Emily through narrowed lids as he reclined back in his chair. Following a somewhat rocky start to the evening, he now felt far too mellow from their companionable dinner together, accompanied by several glasses of fine wine, to raise the energy to argue with Emily again tonight.
Arguing with her was the last thing on his mind.
Making love to her being the first.
“Come over here,” he invited huskily.
She blinked those long lashes several times before answering him. “I am perfectly comfortable where I am, thank you.”
He shook his head. “Your shoulders and back are tense. Come over here, sit on the floor between my legs, and I will massage them for you.”
Emily’s mouth became dry at Whitney’s outrageous suggestion. At the thought of being held captive between his thighs and having those long elegant hands touching her shoulders and down the length of her spine.
They seemed so very alone in here together, the rest of the house completely silent apart from the usual creaks and noises of any house.
There was no denying she was still a little tense from those feelings she’d
Whether she intends to share Whitney’s bed tonight or another night, the witch cannot be allowed to ensnare yet another man in her supposed innocence and vulnerability. To lure Whitney into her spider’s web, with those huge green eyes that appear so guileless but hide a multitude of sins.
Her mother’s death.
Her father’s suicide.
Her husband’s demise mere months ago.
Someone must ensure she suffers for her sins of pride, lust, and greed.
And someone must protect Whitney from falling prey to those same sins.
That someone will be me.
Chapter 8
“Emily…?”
She gave herself a mental shake as she realized she had allowed her thoughts to drift in the middle of Whitney speaking to her.
Not that Whitney was in the least boring. He was far too intensely male to ever be that. Nor was he a gentleman she, or anyone else, would ever be able to overlook or ignore. Not only because of his dashing good looks and confident manner: his conversation, as they ate the rest of their dinner, had been both interesting and amusing, as he told her some of the funnier stories of Society. No doubt with the intention of putting Emily at ease.
He might have succeeded too, if not for the feeling she’d had all evening, and could not seem to shake, that she was being watched. That she and Whitney both were being watched.
Perhaps she had been wrong earlier and one or more of Whitney’s servants did bear him ill feelings? To the extent they spied upon him, and eavesdropped on his conversation?
Whatever or whoever was responsible for Emily’s feelings of discomfort during dinner—the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end, and cold shivers ran up and down the length of her spine—that feeling of being watched had dissipated only once they left the dining room and retired to Whitney’s study.
“Thank you.” She accepted the glass of brandy Clarke handed to her. She and Whitney were now seated opposite each other in the two armchairs placed either side of the warming fire, the curtains drawn against the night outside.
“Have you seen the library yet?” Whitney prompted once he had dismissed Clarke for the night.
Emily shot Whitney a mischievous smile. “I would not dare to presume to venture inside until I am given permission.”
“I am fast coming to appreciate there is little you would not presume or dare to do if you have a mind to do it,” he drawled dryly.
Her eyes widened. “I have no idea how you might have come by such a disagreeable opinion of me.”
“It was not meant as a criticism. I admire your determination and fortitude.”
“You do?”
“I do,” Xander confirmed, watching Emily through narrowed lids as he reclined back in his chair. Following a somewhat rocky start to the evening, he now felt far too mellow from their companionable dinner together, accompanied by several glasses of fine wine, to raise the energy to argue with Emily again tonight.
Arguing with her was the last thing on his mind.
Making love to her being the first.
“Come over here,” he invited huskily.
She blinked those long lashes several times before answering him. “I am perfectly comfortable where I am, thank you.”
He shook his head. “Your shoulders and back are tense. Come over here, sit on the floor between my legs, and I will massage them for you.”
Emily’s mouth became dry at Whitney’s outrageous suggestion. At the thought of being held captive between his thighs and having those long elegant hands touching her shoulders and down the length of her spine.
They seemed so very alone in here together, the rest of the house completely silent apart from the usual creaks and noises of any house.
There was no denying she was still a little tense from those feelings she’d
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