Stranded With The Scottish Earl Read Free Page A

smile lurked in their depths. If her insane parent wasn’t so set on
    promoting the match with Lord Lyle, Charlotte might even find that twinkle appealing. Most women would.
    Which begged the question why the earl connived with her father to marry a woman he’d never met. Viewing him dispassionately—or at least trying
    to—she imagined such a spectacular man must have to beat admiring females off with a stick every time he stepped out his front door.
    He put on the guileless expression he’d tried on the front doorstep. It was no more convincing now than it had been then. “I promise I’m
    no burglar, Miss Flora.”
    Her lips tightened. “That’s just what a burglar would say.”
    He ran his hand across his head, leaving his black hair delightfully disarrayed—not that she noticed, she told herself—and responded with a
    hint of asperity. She could tell he didn’t like having his credentials questioned. Too bad. “Well, if I am a burglar, today I can only steal
    what I can swim away with.”
    “When the rain stops, the water will go down,” she said steadily, slipping her icy feet into an old pair of leather slippers.
    He regarded her with a concentration that had an odd effect on her pulse. Perhaps after all that running through the rain, she was coming down with a cold.
    “You don’t really believe I intend harm, do you?”
    If he intended to marry her, she considered that great harm indeed. But Flora the housemaid couldn’t say that. Bill rose and gave himself a good
    shake before he trotted forward to investigate the stranger’s boots.
    Bite him, Bill.
    Lord Lyle clicked his elegant fingers. And Bill, the rotten traitor, yipped in delight and rolled over to offer his pink belly for a scratch.
    “Nice dog.” He bent to rub the terrier’s damp white fur.
    Silly dog, she thought, but remained silent. Something about the way that elegant hand caressed her pet into bliss made her lightheaded. She raised a hand
    to her cheeks. She was unhealthily warm. A cold must be coming on.
    Lyle hunkered down to do a better job of turning Bill into his devoted slave. He looked up at her from under the black wing of hair that flopped over his
    brow. “If you really are worried about my intentions, I can try and get across the river. I’m a strong swimmer when unencumbered with stolen
    booty.”
    Charlotte stifled the urge to return his smile and wondered why she wasn’t scared. After all, they were alone, and she was at his mercy, should he
    decide to turn nasty. “It’s too dangerous.”
    “Then I can sleep in the stables.”
    Watching Bill squirm with pleasure, she summoned the words that would exile this unwelcome intruder from her personal Eden. It wasn’t as if Lord Lyle
    couldn’t manage out there. Her father housed his horses better than his tenants—and his tenants had no complaints. In the stables, however
    beneath his dignity, the earl would be warm and dry. And safely out of her hair.
    But her essential generosity prompted a completely different offer. “We have about a hundred bedrooms.” Only a small exaggeration. “And
    you look like a gentleman.”
    “Thank you, Miss Flora,” he said gravely. Odd how she was convinced he continued to laugh at her.
    He shouldn’t call a mere housemaid miss, but if she protested, he’d only find her more amusing. Strange the insight she already had into his
    character. “I’ll…I’ll show you to a room.”
    “Thank you.” He collected his steaming coat and stepped toward her.
    She retreated into the table, before remembering that she didn’t want him to know he made her nervous. Still, she gulped before she spoke. It was
    just that he was so tall, and he watched her with such attention. And that wet shirt stuck so lovingly to every line of his impressive torso.
    When she read her father’s letter, she’d pictured Lord Lyle as a weedy creampuff. The sort of milksop who let other people arrange his life.
    The man standing near enough for her to catch