Read Online Mary Blayney by Traitors Kiss; Lovers Kiss - Free Book Online Page A

has been months since I have had anything but watered ale.”
    She had been reminding herself as much as speaking to him. This situation was ripe enough for folly without fueling it with spirits. Charlotte bent to put her glass of brandy on the table, but the fabric of her dress pulled across her back, the cold of it making her gasp. A convulsive shiver overcame her, and instead of setting the glass aside, she took the brandy like medicine in one long swallow. Oh, it felt wonderful, burning its way through her, calming the chattering of her teeth against the glass.
    “Let me free myself from this,” he said, as he struggled out of his coat, “and I will pour you some more.”
    Standing with her back to him, Charlotte held her hands out to the fire. She toed off her shoes. That was a mistake. Without shoes she felt even more vulnerable.
    There was a tap at the door and Lord Gabriel answered it. Charlotte glanced over her shoulder. A woman, older and leaning heavily on a stick, handed him a robe. He thanked her with quiet gravity, closed the door, strode to the fireplace and, without asking, began to work the laces arrowing down the back of the blue dress.
    Charlotte stiffened, but could not deny it was the only way. It proved to be slow work. The feel of his fingers at her neck made her shiver as much as the cold did. “Rip it off,” she said. “It is ruined anyway.”
    He hesitated only a minute and then did as she ordered. The sound of the tearing fabric brought a memory, a child crying as she was pulled from her mother’s arms, the woman’s dress tearing as the child refused to let go. Charlotte blamed the brandy for the image. It was one of her dreams and, please God, nowhere near the truth of what had happened.
    The dress dropped in a pool around her feet. He turned her to face him, his fingers leaving a warm imprint on her cold shoulders. It was all she could do to keep from stepping into his embrace, the warmth of him almost worth the risk. She hated being this cold.
    He began to undo the front-fastening corset. Charlotte raised a hand to stop him. He pulled his fingers from under hers. “Yours are still shaking,” he said, his eyes kinder than his tone. “Let me help you. Or is this another way you have of courting death?”
    She returned his look while she considered a choice that should have been easy. Finally, she gave up the debate, dropped her hand and looked over his shoulder.
    “I’ve never seen stays that lace in the front,” he said as he made quick work of the closure. “From the same modiste who made your gowns?”
    “Yes,” Charlotte said, smiling a little, still avoiding his eye. “She is quite inventive. I expect someday every whore will own one.”
    He finished and the unlaced stays slipped down her arms. His chest brushed against her breasts and she pressed closer.
    Lord Gabriel shook his head as he stepped back. “I know your game now, Charlotte.” His smile was not lecherous, not even appreciative. “And I am immune to it.”
    She looked down his body to where the evidence of his arousal made a liar of him.
    “I correct myself,” he laughed, “my mind is immune. My body is all male. And you are not a jailer but a witch.”
    She wore only her chemise now. It was no more than damp in spots, but wherever it touched her the cold came back. He bent down to take the edge of it. She ended that with a firm
“Non.”
When she had his attention, she added, “I am not a child. This much I can manage.”
    With a nod, he went back to the table and finished refilling their glasses.
    “My lord?” She timed her question so that when he turned to her she was beginning to cover herself with the robe, naked except for her stockings and the black embroidered garters that were her favorite.
    He came closer, but merely handed her the refilled glass. “This is not about sex, Charlotte. This is about keeping you from an inflammation of the lungs.”
    “You lie.” She spoke without rancor.