Read Online Wagered to the Duke (BookStrand Publishing Romance) by Karen Lingefelt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Lingefelt
Tags: Romance
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passed. One, two, three, four!
She didn’t even bother knocking, and she wasn’t at all surprised the door was unlocked, allowing her to throw it open and crash right in. Freddy was too much of a lackwit to bother with something as complicated as a key, and besides, what did he have worth stealing? He had no coin, and any self-respecting thief would surely rather slither away empty-handed than settle for pinching Freddy’s hideously embroidered waistcoat.
The shutters were closed, blocking out the daylight, so Kate could barely make out his form on the bed. She threw the covers back to the very foot of the bed and gasped.
He was naked.
Yet he only stirred, emitting a low groan.
Kate turned back to the doorway, as if she expected to see the innkeeper’s wife and serving girl on her heels, hoping for their own glimpse of masculinity. She threw the door shut. She’d never seen a naked man before, unless she counted the replica of Michelangelo’s David that graced a remote corner of Carswell Park, the ancestral home of her paternal Uncle Peter, the Marquess of Carswell.
For years she’d been forbidden to go near that part of the estate. Then one day, while her mother was bedridden with another one of her headaches, Kate had stolen out to see if the rumors were true. She’d found the statue and spent the rest of the afternoon staring at it. Thereafter, whenever they visited Uncle Peter, she never passed up a chance to rush in where her mother feared to tread and behold the magnificent David with his magnificent—
She rushed over to the window to open the shutters and throw light upon Freddy’s nakedness.
She turned and gasped again.
This wasn’t Freddy. This was Nathan. And what lay between his muscled thighs was much bigger than what she’d seen on the David statue, stiffly pointing toward him like a thick, red arrow.
Kate felt a deep, shuddering ache between her thighs. It spread up her belly and tingled in the very tips of her breasts, and she knew it wasn’t just from relief that he hadn’t abandoned her, after all.
It was a feeling very similar to the one that sometimes swept through her late at night as she lay in bed, wishing, aching for someone to lie next to her and keep her warm and sated and loved.
“What the hell?”
The unexpected words pushed her back from the bed. She clamped a hand over her mouth, though she didn’t know why she bothered, for she was speechless.
He propped himself up on his elbows. “Did the cat get your tongue, Miss Hathaway, or did your own burning curiosity kill the cat before he could do so?”
Thus far he’d made no move to pull the covers back up. Kate wondered if that was a good omen or a bad one.
Still keeping her hand over her mouth, she mumbled, “I’m sorry, I thought you were Freddy.”
“You thought I was who?”
She finally managed to wrench her hand away from her mouth. “Freddy. I thought you were Freddy.”
Now he sat up. “Your brother?”
Oh, dear . He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat directly in front of her, gazing at her intently. To her consternation, his organ was now pointed at her, as if it meant to accuse her of something sinful—like looking at it. That being the case, Kate had to wonder why her eyes hadn’t melted out of their sockets or why she hadn’t turned into a pillar of salt. Or maybe she had and just didn’t realize it, because she couldn’t move and couldn’t look away from it.
“Are you usually in the habit of approaching your brother’s bed in the morning and throwing back the covers?”
“No, no! Not at all!” she cried, as her heart hammered against her ribs. “I would never do such a thing—I mean, I’ve never done such a thing before, and I never would, at least not to my own brother. You must believe me, Nathan!”
“That’s right, we did agree we should call each other by our first names. And yours was what again?”
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t wrench her gaze
She didn’t even bother knocking, and she wasn’t at all surprised the door was unlocked, allowing her to throw it open and crash right in. Freddy was too much of a lackwit to bother with something as complicated as a key, and besides, what did he have worth stealing? He had no coin, and any self-respecting thief would surely rather slither away empty-handed than settle for pinching Freddy’s hideously embroidered waistcoat.
The shutters were closed, blocking out the daylight, so Kate could barely make out his form on the bed. She threw the covers back to the very foot of the bed and gasped.
He was naked.
Yet he only stirred, emitting a low groan.
Kate turned back to the doorway, as if she expected to see the innkeeper’s wife and serving girl on her heels, hoping for their own glimpse of masculinity. She threw the door shut. She’d never seen a naked man before, unless she counted the replica of Michelangelo’s David that graced a remote corner of Carswell Park, the ancestral home of her paternal Uncle Peter, the Marquess of Carswell.
For years she’d been forbidden to go near that part of the estate. Then one day, while her mother was bedridden with another one of her headaches, Kate had stolen out to see if the rumors were true. She’d found the statue and spent the rest of the afternoon staring at it. Thereafter, whenever they visited Uncle Peter, she never passed up a chance to rush in where her mother feared to tread and behold the magnificent David with his magnificent—
She rushed over to the window to open the shutters and throw light upon Freddy’s nakedness.
She turned and gasped again.
This wasn’t Freddy. This was Nathan. And what lay between his muscled thighs was much bigger than what she’d seen on the David statue, stiffly pointing toward him like a thick, red arrow.
Kate felt a deep, shuddering ache between her thighs. It spread up her belly and tingled in the very tips of her breasts, and she knew it wasn’t just from relief that he hadn’t abandoned her, after all.
It was a feeling very similar to the one that sometimes swept through her late at night as she lay in bed, wishing, aching for someone to lie next to her and keep her warm and sated and loved.
“What the hell?”
The unexpected words pushed her back from the bed. She clamped a hand over her mouth, though she didn’t know why she bothered, for she was speechless.
He propped himself up on his elbows. “Did the cat get your tongue, Miss Hathaway, or did your own burning curiosity kill the cat before he could do so?”
Thus far he’d made no move to pull the covers back up. Kate wondered if that was a good omen or a bad one.
Still keeping her hand over her mouth, she mumbled, “I’m sorry, I thought you were Freddy.”
“You thought I was who?”
She finally managed to wrench her hand away from her mouth. “Freddy. I thought you were Freddy.”
Now he sat up. “Your brother?”
Oh, dear . He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat directly in front of her, gazing at her intently. To her consternation, his organ was now pointed at her, as if it meant to accuse her of something sinful—like looking at it. That being the case, Kate had to wonder why her eyes hadn’t melted out of their sockets or why she hadn’t turned into a pillar of salt. Or maybe she had and just didn’t realize it, because she couldn’t move and couldn’t look away from it.
“Are you usually in the habit of approaching your brother’s bed in the morning and throwing back the covers?”
“No, no! Not at all!” she cried, as her heart hammered against her ribs. “I would never do such a thing—I mean, I’ve never done such a thing before, and I never would, at least not to my own brother. You must believe me, Nathan!”
“That’s right, we did agree we should call each other by our first names. And yours was what again?”
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t wrench her gaze
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