Read Online Her Mystery Duke by Natasha Blackthorne - Free Book Online Page A

never
seen a more gorgeous pair of breasts.”
    Likely he was overstating his wealth and advantages a bit.
All men did.
    “You don’t need to flatter me with such outlandish talk. I
think I shall be kind to you for the remainder of your time here with me.”
    “Will you?”
    “Yes, but only if you promise to sleep now.”
    He paused and gaped at her as though her hair had suddenly
caught afire. Then he smiled again, lazily this time, distractingly sensual.
“You certainly are a dictatorial little thing.”
    He pulled himself up to a sitting position.
    “No, you should rest. You’re not well enough to—”
    He moved across the bed then arose, in all his naked glory.
As he approached, her gaze riveted on his hard, muscled midsection. He didn’t
appear to be all that steady on his feet and yet, paradoxically, there was a
dancer’s grace to the way moved. Once again, she wondered how he maintained his
body in that state of development.
    David put his hands on the curve of her waist and he leaned
close. Faint wheezing still sounded in his breathing.
    He really was not a well man. Not yet.
    He cupped his hand under the fullest part of her breast. She
shouldn’t allow it. He was going to exhaust himself. His thumb brushed over the
nipple. Fierce darts of delight stabbed through her. She closed her eyes and
suppressed a moan.
    “We have to get you back into bed,” she said.
      His other hand swept
over her buttocks. “Yes, I think we should definitely go back to bed.”
      “And then I must
feed you and afterwards you must sleep.”
    He pulled back and cupped her face with one hand. “Must I?”
    He gave her one of his slight smiles. It threatened to kill
her self-control.
    She stiffened her spine. “Of course you must. You have been
really ill.”
    His smile widened into a grin of blinding masculine beauty.
Her heart gave a series of jagged beats.
    “I should adore something to eat besides that horrid gruel
you have been shoveling at me.” He ran a hand over his cheek, a brisk roughing
of the stubble that was somehow unbearably carnal. It sent renewed twinges of
need into her belly.
    She became aware of her mouth hanging open. “I have some
beef stew.”
    “Well, that would be lovely, darling. And then I need to
clean myself up, I think. I don’t suppose you have a razor and shaving soap?”
    “I sent out for some.”
    “Excellent.” He looked at her then with an intense,
predatory glint.
    Again, her heart gave a series of jagged, panicked beats. He
was letting her off. However, if he had been well, he would not have. He would
have pressed his advantage. The most frightening thing about that was she
didn’t know where or how far he would have taken her.
    But she did suspect that she wouldn’t have been able to
resist.
    Dry-mouthed, she turned away from him. Thank goodness for
something practical to focus on. Feeding him. Helping him to clean up. Of
course it was better for him to eat and shave. The sooner David was
presentable, the sooner his coachman could be sent for, and he would be on his
way to his life. And out of hers.
     
    * * * *
     
    The plain stew of carrots, onions and beef tasted better
than the finest ragout of beef. As David swallowed a third mouthful of salty,
rich broth, blood seemed to surge into his head, clearing the remaining fog
from his thoughts. Apparently, he had been here for days, lost in delirium and
half delirium.
    It seemed unreal. He hadn’t been ill since he was a very
small child. Stamina and the ability to push on no matter what were simply
facets of his being. He looked around at the small chamber: cracked plaster,
old furniture, a single window, the outside glass frosted by a heavy coating of
dirt. Where the hell was he? How many days had passed? Why hadn’t he insisted
on sending for his carriage long before this? He must have taken leave of all
his senses.
    He had missed the vote.
    “You called me Thérèse.”
    His blood went to ice and he paused in the act of