His Sinful Secret Read Free Page B

The flickering blaze was there, however, ready to singe whoever came into contact with him if necessary.
    He always did what was necessary. Michael was brilliant as a cut diamond, but also every bit as hard. The facets too were many.
    “I take it he declined to stay the night.” Lawrence lifted his deformed brow.
    “How do you know I asked?”
    “There’s a certain disappointment in your eyes, my lady. Besides, with him, you always ask.”
    “You are presumptuous.”
    “And you, my lady, are misguided when it comes to the marquess,” he said softly.
    “It isn’t your business.” She tried to sound haughty and indignant, but couldn’t quite pull it off.
    For that matter, maybe it was more accurate to say not when Lawrence was the one questioning her about Michael. Through the course of the war, their arrival in England, and their alliance, it had all become somehow tangled together.
    “Isn’t it?” He was unfazed by her curt, dismissive tone.
    She laughed, but it had nothing to do with humor. “In case it escaped you, the man arrived with a knife wound in his side. Amorous bed play was not on his agenda.”
    “It didn’t escape me. Who cleaned up the trail of blood to your bedroom, who gave him a clean shirt, and who drove him close enough to his grand home for a discreet arrival at this ungodly hour?”
    “Your efficiency is always appreciated.” It was true. Lawrence fulfilled many roles in her household, and in her life for that matter. Whether he was driving the carriage, playing footman and serving claret to guests, or various other not-so-mundane tasks, he was always competent and discreet.
    “Shall I name how I’d like to be paid?” Lawrence shifted his powerful body, all hard muscle, in one athletic movement. The way he moved into her room was reminiscent of a stalking panther—slow, riveted, intent.
    He’d dressed to drive Longhaven home, but changed back into his dressing gown. It gaped open and showed a well-defined chest, and his dark eyes held just a slight erotic glitter. In the feminine surroundings he always looked out of place. Too rugged against the trappings of silk bed hangings and fine Persian rugs, the vase of flowers by the side of her bed incongruous with his dominant masculinity.
    Antonia felt her heart begin to beat faster. When he had that look in his eyes, he was very difficult to resist. The trouble was, she wasn’t even sure she wished to resist. She protested, “It’s late. I’m tired.”
    “You can sleep afterward.” He corrected himself. “You’ll sleep better afterward.”
    She should turn him away.
    All too often, she didn’t.
    “You always do,” he reminded her, the hoarse edge to his voice indicative of his need.
    Yes, it was true, but she usually woke regretful. Using him for transient pleasure, for the comfort of strong arms around her, always stirred a conscience she wasn’t even sure she possessed any longer. But still she tried to argue. “It isn’t fair to you.”
    Lawrence reached for her and hauled her to her feet, the movement not precisely rough but still demanding. The heat from his body warmed her, and she felt the rigid length of his desire between them.
    His hot mouth grazed her ear. “I can take care of myself, Antonia. Let me love you.”
    She surrendered.
     
    Maybe it wasn’t surprising she couldn’t sleep, but it was annoying just the same.
    Julianne Sutton wandered over to the window and pulled the curtain aside, staring into the darkness. A thin moon illuminated the rooftops of the nearby houses and made blank eyes out of the windows.
    Two days.
    She was supposed to be married in two days.
    A shiver of apprehension ran up her spine. It wasn’t as if she could recall a time she didn’t know she would one day marry the Marquess of Longhaven, but the phrase day after tomorrow took on an intimidating immediacy.
    Maybe she’d always, for as long as she could remember, accepted the idea that the intended marriage was fait accompli,