Read Online To Love a Lord by Christi Caldwell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christi Caldwell
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Anger? Desire? Where would that thought come from?
Then he dipped his gaze lower to her fathomless, blue stare and, God help him, if her eyes were water he’d gladly lose himself within their depths. He swallowed reflexively and urged his feet to carry him away from her but made the mistake of lowering his eyes further to her lush, full lips. No companion should have a mouth such as hers. With a pained groan, he lowered his head, praying she’d slap him in fury, but hoping more that she allowed him to explore the soft contours of her perfectly bow-shaped lips.
But as he touched his mouth to hers, she remained still. A slight, shuddery intake of her honey-scented breath hinted at her desire. Encouraged by that breathy sigh, he deepened the kiss.
She stiffened, and for an agonizing moment he thought she’d wrench herself free of his embrace but then she angled her head and accepted his kiss with a tentativeness that hinted at innocence and belied the Mrs . before her name. He moved his lips in a slow, determined path, brushing his mouth over the corner of her lips. “Surely you have a name?” How did he not know her name? How, when he knew she tasted of honey and smelled as though she’d been traipsing through fields of lavender?
“J-Jane,” she rasped and tipped her head back to aid him in his quest.
At the satiny softness of her long, graceful neck, Gabriel’s heart thundered in his ears. Or was that her wildly beating pulse under his lips? “Jane,” he repeated back, exploring the taste of her name. Short and yet, strength melded with the faintest hint of softness to that one syllable. “Perfect,” he whispered, taking her lips once more. It suited her in every way. He folded his arms about her, drawing her close and taking her lips under his again. A startled cry escaped her. He stiffened and drew back just as Jane punched him. Her fist connected solidly with his nose.
As the lady stumbled away from him, Gabriel touched his nose. He winced. By God, too many counts in a ring against Gentleman Jackson himself and never broken, but then with one dangerously wicked right jab, the lady had broken his nose. Belatedly, he registered the sickly warm trickle of blood. Gabriel yanked his kerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his nose glaring at Jane over the rapidly staining fabric. The lady continued retreating, her pallor white. “Bloody hell.” He winced at the pain of his own touch. What companion learned to handle herself in that impressive manner? If he’d not already sworn to have her gone, and then violated the unspoken vow to never dally with those in his employ, he’d have hired her on as a companion if for no other reason than the certainty that Chloe would be well-cared for in her capable, if violent, hands.
*
Jane pressed her hands to her lips. Her well-kissed lips. Oh, bloody hell, she’d hit him. The marquess withdrew a kerchief from his pocket and then snapped open the stark white linen. Horror filled her as a splash of crimson stained that immaculate fabric. “I—” That strangled word caught in her throat, as she recalled the last man she’d hit and the consequences of that violent, but deservedly violent, outburst. She’d been cast out of her employer’s home and scuttled off to Mrs. Belden’s. But this was altogether different. This circumstance, however, was vastly different. The marquess had not forced his attentions on her. Instead, she’d pressed herself against him like the shameful harlot her mother had been and eagerly returned that kiss.
From over the rim of his handkerchief, he studied her. The faintest amusement glinted in his emerald green eyes, which was impossible. A powerful, commanding nobleman would not take to being dealt a facer by a member of his staff. And certainly not a woman who was merely a member of his staff because she’d laid siege to his breakfast room and refused to leave until she met and made a plea to his sister.
“A simple no would have
Then he dipped his gaze lower to her fathomless, blue stare and, God help him, if her eyes were water he’d gladly lose himself within their depths. He swallowed reflexively and urged his feet to carry him away from her but made the mistake of lowering his eyes further to her lush, full lips. No companion should have a mouth such as hers. With a pained groan, he lowered his head, praying she’d slap him in fury, but hoping more that she allowed him to explore the soft contours of her perfectly bow-shaped lips.
But as he touched his mouth to hers, she remained still. A slight, shuddery intake of her honey-scented breath hinted at her desire. Encouraged by that breathy sigh, he deepened the kiss.
She stiffened, and for an agonizing moment he thought she’d wrench herself free of his embrace but then she angled her head and accepted his kiss with a tentativeness that hinted at innocence and belied the Mrs . before her name. He moved his lips in a slow, determined path, brushing his mouth over the corner of her lips. “Surely you have a name?” How did he not know her name? How, when he knew she tasted of honey and smelled as though she’d been traipsing through fields of lavender?
“J-Jane,” she rasped and tipped her head back to aid him in his quest.
At the satiny softness of her long, graceful neck, Gabriel’s heart thundered in his ears. Or was that her wildly beating pulse under his lips? “Jane,” he repeated back, exploring the taste of her name. Short and yet, strength melded with the faintest hint of softness to that one syllable. “Perfect,” he whispered, taking her lips once more. It suited her in every way. He folded his arms about her, drawing her close and taking her lips under his again. A startled cry escaped her. He stiffened and drew back just as Jane punched him. Her fist connected solidly with his nose.
As the lady stumbled away from him, Gabriel touched his nose. He winced. By God, too many counts in a ring against Gentleman Jackson himself and never broken, but then with one dangerously wicked right jab, the lady had broken his nose. Belatedly, he registered the sickly warm trickle of blood. Gabriel yanked his kerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his nose glaring at Jane over the rapidly staining fabric. The lady continued retreating, her pallor white. “Bloody hell.” He winced at the pain of his own touch. What companion learned to handle herself in that impressive manner? If he’d not already sworn to have her gone, and then violated the unspoken vow to never dally with those in his employ, he’d have hired her on as a companion if for no other reason than the certainty that Chloe would be well-cared for in her capable, if violent, hands.
*
Jane pressed her hands to her lips. Her well-kissed lips. Oh, bloody hell, she’d hit him. The marquess withdrew a kerchief from his pocket and then snapped open the stark white linen. Horror filled her as a splash of crimson stained that immaculate fabric. “I—” That strangled word caught in her throat, as she recalled the last man she’d hit and the consequences of that violent, but deservedly violent, outburst. She’d been cast out of her employer’s home and scuttled off to Mrs. Belden’s. But this was altogether different. This circumstance, however, was vastly different. The marquess had not forced his attentions on her. Instead, she’d pressed herself against him like the shameful harlot her mother had been and eagerly returned that kiss.
From over the rim of his handkerchief, he studied her. The faintest amusement glinted in his emerald green eyes, which was impossible. A powerful, commanding nobleman would not take to being dealt a facer by a member of his staff. And certainly not a woman who was merely a member of his staff because she’d laid siege to his breakfast room and refused to leave until she met and made a plea to his sister.
“A simple no would have
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