Read Online Forever a Lord by Delilah Marvelle - Free Book Online

Cupping her hands harder against her breasts, she felt her puckered nipples well-outlined against the wet material sticking to her palms. Her heated face pricked against the cold wind.
    He lowered his stubbled chin as if to get a better look at her face and extended a bare, scarred hand toward the entrance. “Are you going in or not?” He spaced out his words as if she were mentally incapable of understanding. “Because I can still see everything. Even with your hands in place.”
    She gasped, completely mortified, turned and dashed past the portico and back in through the open door of the house, her slippers clicking and sliding across the marble. Skidding out of sight, she scrambled into the darkest corner of the foyer, setting herself against the farthest wall where no one could see her.
    In a daze, she flopped against the wall, breathing hard. He’d seen everything.
    She stared up at the mahogany stairwell that led up to an open landing above. After a blurring week of every aristocratic socialite fawning over the way she walked and danced and breathed, this was simply too much.
    Male voices and heavy steps drifted into the foyer.
    She froze, holding her breath.
    “Remind me to never bring you home with me again,” Henry said in a riled tone, hidden just beyond sight. “Did you really have to comment on her breasts? In my circle, we don’t talk to women that way.”
    “I got her inside for you, didn’t I?” that baritone casually provided. “Consider it a compliment I thought your wife’s breasts attractive enough to even comment on.”
    She almost choked.
    “That wasn’t my wife!” Henry staggered toward the stairwell, the coat still pulled over his head. “That was my sister, Coleman. My goddamn sister! ”
    “Consider it an even bigger compliment.”
    “Weston?” A female voice bloomed throughout the foyer like a horn. “Who is…whatever are you— Why are you hiding under a coat?”
    About time you noticed something amiss, Imogene thought. Her gaze jumped up to her sister-in-law standing at the top of the staircase, which was barely in view from the dark corner Imogene was tucked in.
    Wrapped from shoulder to toe in a clinging, gold silk robe whose train splayed down part of the stair, Lady Mary Elizabeth Weston reminded Imogene of a Roman princess lounging about a palace. All the woman needed were the grapes. Sour grapes.
    “ That is my wife,” Henry grumbled almost inaudibly from within the coat. “And though she and I aren’t on the best of terms, I will mind you not to comment on her breasts, either.”
    “No worry in that,” came the stage-whispered response. “They’re not as impressive.”
    Imogene stifled a disbelieving laugh against her pressed hand. Now that was funny.
    The tall, broad back belonging to this “Coleman” appeared in view at the bottom of the staircase. “Let me help you up.” Taking Henry’s arm and draping it over his midsection, he guided him up the stairs. “Go slow.”
    Imogene could practically hear her brother wincing as he staggered up each step.
    Mary bustled down the stairs, trying to grab Henry’s other arm. “I am never letting you go to another boxing exhibition again. ’Tis a waste of whatever is left of your face. A true gentleman would never watch such filth, let alone participate in it.”
    Henry yanked his arm away from hers. “Yes, you know all about real gentlemen, don’t you, Mary?”
    She sputtered, following Henry up the remaining stairs. “How can you treat me like this?” She waved toward Coleman. “Bringing in some vagrant from off the street to see me in my robe!”
    “He isn’t a vagrant. And unlike Banbury, he isn’t here to see you,” Henry coolly obliged. “He was assisting me home, given my condition.”
    When they had reached the landing, Henry grabbed Coleman’s shoulder, the coat swaying lopsided over his head. “My driver will take you wherever you need to go.”
    “Uh…no,” Coleman provided. “The ride