Read Online One Good Earl Deserves a Lover by Sarah MacLean - Free Book Online Page A

his tongue in such a situation? The tongue was an organ designed for eating and speaking. How did it play into kissing? Though, logically, mouths touching would make for tongues being rather near each other . . . but the idea was unsettling, honestly.
    “ . . . I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, of course,” Olivia went on.
    Wait.
    Pippa looked to her sister. “What?”
    Olivia waved that rubied hand again. “I mean, it is Castleton. ”
    “There’s nothing wrong with Castleton,” Pippa defended. “He’s a kind, good man.” Even as she said the words, she knew what Olivia meant. What Mr. Cross had meant the day before, when he’d suggested that Castleton was a less-than-superior groom.
    Castleton was a perfectly nice man, but he was not the kind who inspired kissing.
    Certainly not with tongues.
    Whatever that meant.
    “Of course he is,” Olivia said, unaware of Pippa’s rioting thoughts. “He’s rich, too. Which helps.”
    “I am not marrying him because he’s rich.”
    Olivia’s attention snapped to Pippa. “Why are you marrying him?”
    The question was not outrageous. “Because I have agreed to.”
    “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
    Pippa did know it, and there were any number of reasons why she was marrying him. All the things she’d told Olivia and Mr. Cross were true. The earl was good and kind and liked dogs. He appreciated Pippa’s intelligence and was willing to allow her full access to his estate and its inner workings. He might not be intelligent or terribly quick or very amusing, but he was better than most.
    No, he was not what most women would deem a catch—not a viscount destined for prime minister like Olivia’s fiancé, and not a self-made marquess with a gaming hell and a wicked reputation like Penelope’s Bourne—but neither was he old like Victoria’s husband or absent like Valerie’s.
    And he’d asked her.
    She hesitated at the thought.
    That, as well.
    Philippa Marbury was odd, and Lord Castleton didn’t seem to mind.
    But she didn’t want to say that aloud. Not to Olivia—the most ideal bride that ever there was, on the cusp of a love match with one of the most powerful men in Britain. So, instead, she said, “Perhaps he’s an excellent kisser.”
    Olivia’s expression mirrored Pippa’s feelings on the matter. “Perhaps,” she said.
    Not that Pippa would test the outlandish theory.
    She couldn’t test it. She’d agreed to Mr. Cross’s wager. She’d promised.
    A vision flashed, dice rolling across green baize, the warm touch of strong fingers, serious grey eyes, and a deep, powerful voice, insisting, You shall refrain from propositioning other men .
    Pippa Marbury did not renege.
    But this was something of an emergency, was it not? Olivia was kissing Tottenham, after all. No doubt kissing one’s fiancé was not within the bounds of the wager.
    Was it?
    Except she didn’t want to kiss her fiancé.
    Pippa’s gaze fell to the rosebush on which she’d been so focused prior to her sister’s arrival . . . the lovely scientific discovery that paled in comparison to the information Olivia had just shared.
    It was irrelevant that she did not wish to proposition Castleton.
    And it was irrelevant that it was another man, altogether, whom she wished to proposition—especially so, considering the fact that he’d tossed her out of his club with utter disinterest.
    As for the tightness she felt in her chest, Pippa was certain that it was not in response to the memory of that tall, fascinating man, but instead, normal bridal nervousness.
    All brides were anxious.
    “Twelve days cannot pass quickly enough!” Olivia pronounced, bored with their conversation and oblivious to Pippa’s thoughts.
    All brides were anxious, it seemed, but Olivia.
    T wenty-eight hours.” Digger Knight lazily checked his pocket watch before grinning smugly. “I confess, my blunt was on fewer than twelve.”
    “I like to keep you guessing.” Cross shrugged out of his