Read Online This Earl Is on Fire by Vivienne Lorret - Free Book Online Page A

that’s what she told herself as she moved toward the sideboard to set the bandage down and pour him a glass of water.
    â€œYou’re limping,” he accused. “Did you hurt yourself on the way to my room?”
    Adeline tensed. The question felt like a poke at a bruise that would not heal. While she would rather no one learn of her secret, there was no hiding it now.
    Drawing in a breath, she prepared for the pity that would inevitably come. “I’m lame, Wolford. I always limp, unless I wear my corrective half-boots.”
    He pressed his lips together and nodded, his gaze dropping to her feet. “Ah. That explains the shuffled step.”
    While her left foot was planted cleanly on the floor, her right was on tiptoe. With the length of her night rail nearly reaching the floor, she was sure he couldn’t see much of her feet, but she felt the need to flare her hem wider for concealment, nonetheless. “Pardon?”
    â€œWhenever you walked into the room, your steps would shuffle,” he said matter-of-factly. “Your father’s footfall is crisp and heavy. Your mother’s is steady and light. And yours . . .”
    â€œShuffles,” she finished for him, feeling more ungainly than usual.
    â€œThose are things I’d never noticed before. All sorts of sounds. While I’d always thought I was an astute observer of people, I never knew how much I’d relied on my eyes to assist me. Hearing only the cadence of a voice and not seeing their stance or expressions was difficult to overcome.” His gaze lifted, and there appeared to be a question in his eyes.
    She braced herself. Usually, along with the pity, people wanted to know exactly how she became lame. And she hated telling that story.
    â€œYou did not come to me again after your outing with your mother.”
    Surprise stuttered out of her lungs. Was that all he had to say about her leg, just a mere observation and nothing more? She doubted that was the end of it.
    â€œHow did you know when I returned?” Likely, he’d heard the sound of her ungainly, doddering footfalls.
    Yet he surprised her again with his next words.
    â€œYour voice has a certain . . . quality to it that is easy to recognize,” he explained with the hint of a grin. The upward tilt of his mouth caused a curved, narrow fissure to line one cheek. “And I heard you return early this afternoon.”
    A certain quality? What could that mean? She wondered whether it was good or bad.
    â€œYou were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you,” she said, stating a partial truth. “Father believes sleep is important for healing.”
    â€œHe is a wise man, for I do feel better. Certainly relieved.” He lifted a long-fingered hand, gesturing to his eyes.
    She noticed that his breathing was less labored than before, but not entirely easy. Holding the water glass, she moved toward the bed. Without thinking, she lifted it to his lips. When she realized how pointless her effort was, she stammered, “F-forgive me. I did not mean to—”
    Yet before she finished or even lowered the glass, he stopped her by curling his hand around hers. Then, tipping the glass, he drank every drop. And his eyes stayed with hers the entire time.
    She felt her cheeks heat once more. In fact, they might have caught fire because she had the distinct impression that she was glowing like an ember.
    When he finished, she withdrew the glass and turned to face the table. Placing the glass beside the lamp sent rows of diamond-shaped shadows against the burgundy silk-covered wall. It brought her attention to the size of the room. It seemed a trifle smaller, more intimate, now that his bandages were gone.
    She swallowed and tried to keep her head about her. Though when she turned back to him and noted that he was still looking directly at her, it proved difficult. She feigned a sudden interest in a key on the floor. Likely, it had fallen during his