Lost Lady Read Free Page B

the man dipped a cloth into the hot water, rubbed it on the soap, and began to wash Regan’s face. Somehow it seemed so natural that this man, whose palm was as big as her face, should gently and tenderly wash her. When he’d finished her face, he began on her feet and legs. She looked down at his hair, cut just above his collar, curling a bit, and she couldn’t resist touching it. It was firm and clean, and she thought that even the hairs on his head were strong.
    As he rose, he took her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Put this on,” he said, tossing her one of his clean shirts. “I’ll go downstairs and see if I can find us something to eat. You look like you could use a good meal.”
    The room seemed cavernous when he was gone. When Regan stood, she weaved a bit and realized the brandy had gone to her head. Her Uncle Jonathan had never allowed her to drink spirits. The thought of that name brought back all the ugly memories. As she pulled off what was left of the torn and soiled nightgown, she began to imagine how Farrell and her uncle would feel when she returned with a big, handsome American on her arm. The Colonial was big enough to enforce anything he wanted. As she climbed into bed, wrapped in his clean shirt, the tails past her knees, she imagined how she’d be reinstated in Weston Manor, this time in glory. And the American would always be her friend, would even attend her wedding to Farrell. Of course, he would have to learn some manners, but perhaps Farrell could teach him.
    She drifted off to sleep, a smile on her lips.
    Travis returned to the room with a tray heavily laden with food. When his efforts to wake Regan only made her snuggle deeper under the covers, he dug into the food alone. He’d been drinking with his friends from America since early afternoon, celebrating their safe voyage and the completion of Travis’s business in England. In a week he’d be sailing for Virginia.
    All four of the men had been saying they’d like a sweet girl in their bed when this one ran into Travis. She was pretty, young, and clean, in spite of the pound of dirt he’d washed from her. He wondered what she was doing alone at night, running through the streets in her torn nightgown. Perhaps she’d been kicked out of the house where she usually worked, or maybe she wanted to try it on her own and found that working the streets frightened her.
    Having finished most of the food, Travis stood and stretched. Whatever the girl’s problem, at least she was his tonight. Tomorrow he could return her to the streets.
    He undressed slowly, his hands clumsy with the buttons. The way the girl had clung to him had excited him, and he wondered where she’d learned such a trick; no other whore he’d met had used that technique.
    When he was naked, he slipped between the sheets and pulled the girl to him. Her body was limp, but as he slipped his hands beneath the shirt she began to awaken.
    Regan felt the warm, masculine hands on her body, and it seemed to be part of her delicious dream. No one had offered her affection before; even as a child, when she’d longed to be held by someone, there was no one there to offer her love. In the back of her mind was the memory of some recent, horrible hurt, and she wanted someone to cling to, someone to take away the pain.
    In a half-daze between sleep and wakefulness, she felt her shirt being removed. When her breasts touched his chest and felt the hardness of it, the coating of hair, she gasped with delight. Lips kissed her cheek, her eyes, her hair, and finally her mouth. She’d never kissed a man before, but she knew instantly that she liked it very much. His firm-soft lips moved over hers, parting them just a bit, savoring the sweetness of them.
    As he pulled her closer to him, her arms went around his neck, glorying in the size of him, and she moved closer, pushing her body next to his, wanting to touch all of him.
    But as