Read Online The Dutiful Rake by Elizabeth Rolls - Free Book Online Page B

Marc’s powerful arms were more than sufficient to subdue her efforts to escape. They were like iron bands clamping her to his chest. She heard the door bang shut behind them and panicked. It must be Lord Rutherford after all! He had a dreadful reputation…Where was Marc?
    ‘Take your clothes off.’ She was standing on her own two feet again.
    ‘N…no!’
    ‘Meg…’ Lord Rutherford was beginning to sound like Marc. Or was Marc sounding like Lord Rutherford? Whichever it was, he sounded exasperated. ‘Meg…take your clothes off and get into that bath at once! Before you catch your death of cold!’
    Stupidly she stared at him. She couldn’t undress in front of him! She might be ruined in an academic sense, but she wasn’t that dead to shame.
    With a muttered curse Marcus caught her to him and began to undress her. Shocked, she tried to push him away, but she was feeling far too weak and confused. One large hand caught both her wrists and held them imprisoned behind her back while his free hand continued to make short work of the buttons of her high-necked spencer and then the ties of her gown.
    Despite his efforts not to touch her as he stripped her, his fingers inevitably grazed across her soft skin, searing into her and circumventing her struggles more surely than his grip on her hands. Bemused, she stood helpless as his light, accidental caresses burnt into her trembling body. Indeed, she was no longer sure whether she was shaking with cold—or pleasure at the tantalising touch of his long fingers.
    In no time the gown was off, landing on the floor with an audible splat, and she stood shivering in her chemise and petticoat. Marcus found to his horror that his body was showing definite signs of interest in the procedure. And in her undoubted response to his unintentional advances. She was staring up at him with a completely bemused expression, her delicate lips slightly parted, presenting him with an appalling temptation. In addition, the soaking undergarments revealed what he had suspected, and steadfastly managed to ignore, for two long nights. Namely, the manifold charms of Miss Marguerite Fellowes.
    Stifling a groan and shackling his sudden desire, he shut his eyes momentarily to block out the sight. And then opened them again. Good God, the girl was literally soaked to the skin, her cotton chemise and petticoat clinging to her slim body; every curve, every nuance was laid bare to his heated gaze. He swallowed hard. Two creamy, rounded breasts, their peaks puckered with cold, thrust from under the thin material. A sinuous waist and the long lovely line of her thighs! God, she was beautiful! What would she be like to lie with? To taste? To love? He could imagine it…soft…yielding…utterly entrancing…
    What the hell was he thinking of? He was supposed to be giving her a bath to warm her! Not thinking about taking her to bed! Although the way he was feeling, that would certainly warm her…Swearing audibly now, he picked her up again and strode towards the bath.
    ‘Marc? What are you doing?’ She was terrified, not least by the fact that she couldn’t force her body to struggle any more. If Marc were about to ravish her, then she…Her fears were put abruptly to rest as he dumped her with an unceremonious splash in the hip bath.
    ‘Oh! Oooooh…’ Her gasp of shock was transmuted to a sigh of pleasure as warmth began to steal back into her body. Beyond caring about the impropriety of her situation, she closed her eyes in utter bliss and leaned back against the bath. A moment later she felt water being tipped over her and opened her eyes. Marc waskneeling beside her, soaking up water in a sponge and squeezing it over her shoulders and breasts.
    It felt simply marvellous. Not only was she actually getting warm, but Lord Rutherford seemed to have disappeared completely, leaving Marc in his place. She smiled at him, the horrors of her afternoon receding into the haze of steam rising from the water. Later