Read Online The Last Wicked Scoundrel by Lorraine Heath - Free Book Online Page A

loved the way he made her feel: precious, treasured. They’d not spoken of love or a future, but it hardly mattered. She just needed something to erase the memories of what happened the last time a man had taken her in this bed. She squeezed her eyes shut. No, not this bed. She’d had that one carted away, had purchased a new one to replace it. Only she had ever slept in it. Not entirely true. Her lips curled up. Whit had joined her a time or two when he had a bad dream. But he was older now, beginning to show a preference for not being coddled by his mother.
    Her eyelids began growing heavy. William would return when he could, and she was anticipating it as she’d not anticipated anything in a good long while. He would open the door, slip beneath the sheets, take her into his arms—
    The silk slid over her body as his hands caressed her, the silk no barrier to the heat of his touch. He nuzzled her neck. “I returned as soon as I could.”
    She didn’t want words, didn’t need them. All she wanted were the marvelous sensations that he seemed able to elicit with so little effort. She was floating on a cloud of pleasure, his hands and mouth taking her to places where she’d never traveled. Heat scorched her, inside and out. She wanted to touch him, to feel his skin, but she seemed unable to grasp anything of substance. He was like shadows, weaving around her—
    She inhaled his sandalwood scent, but her lungs froze, her nose stung. Not sandalwood. Caraway. Cloying. Suffocating.
    His hands closed around her throat. She couldn’t breathe. He was weighing her down, taking her into the depths of hell. She fought, she kicked, she screamed a silent scream that was somehow more terrifying. She was going to die! He was going to—
    Winnie awoke with a jolt, breathing heavily, her body trembling. She scrambled back until she was sitting against the headboard. Most of the room was ensconced in wavering shadows that danced around the corners and over the ceiling. The lamp was no longer burning, but there was a fire in the hearth. She didn’t remember there being a fire when she went to sleep.
    The room was chilled and damp. The windows were open, the draperies pulled aside, and the curtains of lighter fabric blowing in the breeze as rain pattered against the floor. Had William returned and opened them? Then where was he?
    And why was the caraway scent stronger now? She was trembling, her silk nightdress clinging to her dampened skin. She had to get hold of herself. Some warm milk, some warm milk would help.
    She reached for the lamp to relight it and froze.
    There, resting on the corner of the bedside table were two rings—ducal rings—that had belonged to her husband. She’d left them in a safe at the ancestral estate, to be given to Whit when he was older and his fingers large enough to accommodate them.
    So how the devil had they ended up there?

 

C HAPTER F IVE
----
    W ith the rain pelting his hat and coat, Graves stood outside Winnie’s residence. It was half past four in the morning. She was no doubt asleep by now. If he unlocked that door, walked into her residence, into her bedchamber, everything would change. There would be no going back.
    As much as he wanted her, he didn’t want her under these circumstances. He hadn’t expected his actions toward her to result in her welcoming him so quickly and swiftly. While his feelings for her might be honest, his reasons for pursuing her at the moment were not.
    He should turn about and go home. But he was the only one with the ability to stay near enough to her to protect them all. Staying close to her would certainly prove no hardship—at least not until she was no longer content with only the small part he would offer.
    Do no harm. That was the mantra of his profession, but in her case he had failed to heed it, which was why he was now standing in the blasted rain arguing with himself. He didn’t have to wake her. He could just sit in a chair and watch her.
    That