His Unexpected Bride Read Free Page A

eyes. “I do not recall anything much of his face.”
    â€œYou are describing Dr. Tucker, who is the vicar at the church in the village.” She jumped to her feet, suddenly fearful. “Why did he call at such a late hour? Was something wrong?”
    Lord Hawksmoor grumbled, “I do not recall, and I do not, at the moment, care. Don’t we have enough wrong now to keep our anxiety focused on the problem at hand?”
    â€œA problem that will be solved if you would skulk out of here. The reason Dr. Tucker called …” She heard a distant clock chime the hour. Sweet heavens, it was already mid-morning. By this hour, Jenette should have come into the room to bring breakfast. If her abigail had entered and seen Lord Hawksmoor—no, it was too appalling even to consider, but every passing minute increased the chance of Jenette walking in here.
    Lord Hawksmoor must have taken note of the chiming as well. “It is time for me to try to be on my way.”
    â€œFirst, let me take that cloth.”
    He peeled it from his forehead and dropped it toward her hand. It missed and fell to the floor. With a grimace, she bent to retrieve it. She straightened, but faltered when she could not ignore his gaze sweeping along her with the unrestrained hunger that had been on his lips when he had pulled her into his arms.
    Going to the ewer, she hung the cloth beside it. She clutched onto the dressing table with both hands. No other man’s stare had ever unnerved her like this. When they had been introduced yesterday, she had not been so disconcerted, although she had noticed his good looks and charming smile. Had his kiss awakened something within her that she had not guessed existed?
    â€œDon’t be a widgeon,” she said.
    â€œI believe it is too late to tell me that now.”
    Tess did not want to own she had been talking to herself. If he took umbrage at her comments, so be it. Anything to get him out of her room … and out of her thoughts.
    â€œCan you walk to the door?” she asked.
    â€œI shall know once I have tried.” Lord Hawksmoor pushed himself to his feet. Swaying, he held out his arms like a rope dancer performing beside a gypsy wagon at a market day. He took one careful step, then another. He smiled triumphantly. “It seems I am steadier than I—”
    She caught him as his knees folded. The legs of the chaise longue thumped against the floor as she collapsed beneath him, unable to keep him on his feet. When she moaned with the last bit of breath she had, for most of it had been squeezed out of her when he fell atop her, he shifted so his weight was not over her.
    â€œAre you hurt, Miss Masterson?” Lord Hawksmoor asked.
    Opening her eyes, she realized he was lying beside her on the chaise longue. Not just beside her, one arm was beneath her with his hand cupping her shoulder, while his other hand was pressed to the cushions on the opposite side of her. She raised her eyes to meet his right above hers. She started to edge away, then realized his leg was across hers, pinning her to the cushions.
    â€œI did not mean to do you any injury,” he continued when she did not reply, for she was too shocked to utter any of the thoughts racing through her head. “Tell me you are all right.”
    A satisfied laugh from the other side of the room swept away any words she might have spoken. She heard Lord Hawksmoor curse, but she could only stare at her father who stood in the doorway. Tearing her eyes from his smile, she looked up at Lord Hawksmoor again. A desperate push against his chest persuaded him to sit up, then rise unsteadily to his feet. She grasped the blanket, which had fallen to the floor. Throwing it over her shoulders again, she stood.
    â€œPapa,” she whispered, “please let me tell you what has happened. It is not as it seems.”
    She wondered if he had heard her when he walked past her and offered his hand to Lord