Read Online Wicked in Your Arms by Sophie Jordan - Free Book Online
Authors: Sophie Jordan
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unaccustomed to being waited on hand and foot.
Sitting at her dressing table, she removed each pin, one by one, until the mass of auburn hair fell past her shoulders. Several curling wisps that refused to grow as long as the rest of her hair framed her face. She ran her fingers through the thick strands, massaging her tired scalp.
Picking up her brush, she tackled her hair until it crackled and gleamed in the low glow of firelight. She paused, staring at her reflection. Even in the dim light, the brown freckles spattering her nose stood out clear as day.
âIâm not that brown,â she muttered to her reflection, her tone defensive, as if she addressed one of the gossiping biddies from tonight whoâd called her dusky. It was simply that all the ladies in the ton preferred a paleness usually reserved for the dead. Grier liked color in her skin.
âAnd Iâm not old .â She set her brush down with a clack and climbed into bed, sinking deep in the center of the soft mattress and wondering why thoughts of a certain prince still plagued her. Her cheeks washed hot and cold at the memory of him. The stolen moments in the wardrobe played so vividly in her head.
It was almost as if he were there, beside her, whispering his taunts, touching her with hands that were far too bold, too callused to belong to a blueblooded prince.
Sheâd never reacted to Trevis this way. Rolling onto her side, she allowed herself to think about her former employer, careful that she did not collide into any of the humiliation that usually accompanied thoughts of him.
Heâd been her best friend since childhood, comfortable and constantâhe even stood up to those who would bully her. She thought they would spend the rest of their lives together. His kisses had been nice . . . but apparently that hadnât been desire. Not true desire. She recognized that now. She knew.
After what she felt tonight in that armoire, she knew sheâd been wrong. Rather appalling when she considered the prince had not even truly kissed her. Her belly had never filled with butterflies before tonight, her lungs had never felt so tight she couldnât draw breath.
Her cheeks warmed as she imagined what an actual kiss from Prince Sevastian would feel like. She curled into a small ball, drawing her legs tightly to her chest, and let her imagination take over.
She closed her eyes, visualizing his face as close as it had been earlier. Only in her mind his mouth closed over hers, his lips moved, caressed . . .
Her eyes flew open with a gasp. She had no business entertaining such fantasies. Certainly not for a wicked man who thought her beneath his regardâsave for a quick tryst. Eyes wide, she stared out at her bedchamber. Suddenly the night loomed endlessly.
Snow started to fall in fat wet flakes, licking at the windowpanes. She rearranged the pillows behind her head and settled back. Slipping a hand beneath her cheek, she watched the flurries of white outside her window, letting the sight block out everything, everyone, especially her fleeting glimpse of Prince Sevastianâs smile.
Chapter Six
T he dowager duchessâs country seat sat nestled amid manicured lawns. A great lake stretched before the massive gray-stone edifice like an inviting carpet of velvet blue. She could almost imagine the geese floating across the lakeâs glassy surface in the spring.
Grier held her breath as they were ushered up several steps into a cathedrallike foyer and tried not to feel like a total impostor. The butler led them to the drawing room. Discordant music erupted from a pianoforte within, escaping through the tall, cracked double doors. The butler pushed the doors open and guided them to the gathered group.
Apparently they were the last to arrive. Several other guests took their tea, the dowager included. She sat in a great throne of a chair before the fire, reigning like a pasha over the assembly. Following the
Sitting at her dressing table, she removed each pin, one by one, until the mass of auburn hair fell past her shoulders. Several curling wisps that refused to grow as long as the rest of her hair framed her face. She ran her fingers through the thick strands, massaging her tired scalp.
Picking up her brush, she tackled her hair until it crackled and gleamed in the low glow of firelight. She paused, staring at her reflection. Even in the dim light, the brown freckles spattering her nose stood out clear as day.
âIâm not that brown,â she muttered to her reflection, her tone defensive, as if she addressed one of the gossiping biddies from tonight whoâd called her dusky. It was simply that all the ladies in the ton preferred a paleness usually reserved for the dead. Grier liked color in her skin.
âAnd Iâm not old .â She set her brush down with a clack and climbed into bed, sinking deep in the center of the soft mattress and wondering why thoughts of a certain prince still plagued her. Her cheeks washed hot and cold at the memory of him. The stolen moments in the wardrobe played so vividly in her head.
It was almost as if he were there, beside her, whispering his taunts, touching her with hands that were far too bold, too callused to belong to a blueblooded prince.
Sheâd never reacted to Trevis this way. Rolling onto her side, she allowed herself to think about her former employer, careful that she did not collide into any of the humiliation that usually accompanied thoughts of him.
Heâd been her best friend since childhood, comfortable and constantâhe even stood up to those who would bully her. She thought they would spend the rest of their lives together. His kisses had been nice . . . but apparently that hadnât been desire. Not true desire. She recognized that now. She knew.
After what she felt tonight in that armoire, she knew sheâd been wrong. Rather appalling when she considered the prince had not even truly kissed her. Her belly had never filled with butterflies before tonight, her lungs had never felt so tight she couldnât draw breath.
Her cheeks warmed as she imagined what an actual kiss from Prince Sevastian would feel like. She curled into a small ball, drawing her legs tightly to her chest, and let her imagination take over.
She closed her eyes, visualizing his face as close as it had been earlier. Only in her mind his mouth closed over hers, his lips moved, caressed . . .
Her eyes flew open with a gasp. She had no business entertaining such fantasies. Certainly not for a wicked man who thought her beneath his regardâsave for a quick tryst. Eyes wide, she stared out at her bedchamber. Suddenly the night loomed endlessly.
Snow started to fall in fat wet flakes, licking at the windowpanes. She rearranged the pillows behind her head and settled back. Slipping a hand beneath her cheek, she watched the flurries of white outside her window, letting the sight block out everything, everyone, especially her fleeting glimpse of Prince Sevastianâs smile.
Chapter Six
T he dowager duchessâs country seat sat nestled amid manicured lawns. A great lake stretched before the massive gray-stone edifice like an inviting carpet of velvet blue. She could almost imagine the geese floating across the lakeâs glassy surface in the spring.
Grier held her breath as they were ushered up several steps into a cathedrallike foyer and tried not to feel like a total impostor. The butler led them to the drawing room. Discordant music erupted from a pianoforte within, escaping through the tall, cracked double doors. The butler pushed the doors open and guided them to the gathered group.
Apparently they were the last to arrive. Several other guests took their tea, the dowager included. She sat in a great throne of a chair before the fire, reigning like a pasha over the assembly. Following the
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