The Love List Read Free Page B

of the library.  “We’ve business to discuss.”
    Surprise unsettled the marquess but for a second—and the girl took full advantage.  She jerked free and bolted for the door, head down and moving at top speed.  She hit him at a dead run—and nearly bounced off of him at impact.  He reached out to steady her.
    And dropped his hands quickly, like he’d touched fire.  This was no hapless serving girl that Marstoke was molesting, but a young lady of quality.
    Her hair gleamed, blacker than the darkest night collected in the corners of the room, but somehow also outshining the glittering embroidery of her gown.  Flushed and a little damp, she panted heavily while glaring at him out of shockingly light green eyes. 
    Aldmere opened his palm, stretched his fingers, expecting a burn after the sacrilege of laying his hands on a girl like this.  He wondered at Marstoke even as he admired the young lady’s spirit. 
    All of the balances of power shifted in the room, the ripples almost visible in the air as the three of them stood frozen.  Aldmere entertained the fleeting thought of retreat, of rallying for a more advantageous moment, but they caught him, those eyes.  He was held in check while she breathed fury and contempt at him.  A dozen sorts of trouble, this one—and each one cloaked in beauty.
    “Easy,” he whispered, because she needed soothing, and reassurance.  He reached for her again.  “It’s fine.  You’re safe now.”
    She stepped back, clearly afraid—but defiant as well.  “Don’t touch me,” she snarled. 
    He shifted, uncomfortable.  There was something wrong with a world that caused a mouth like that to twist so.  A small mouth, but lush and perfectly shaped.  It was a kiss waiting to happen.  Or so he might be tempted to think, under less tawdry circumstances
    He shook his head to unseat the notion, pulled his wandering thoughts back from following disheveled locks of inky hair along the alabaster column of her neck.  He was here on a mission.  Marstoke made a formidable opponent and he’d already lost the element of surprise.
    And now Marstoke had recovered.  “Aldmere?”  He pulled his waistcoat straight and moved toward them.  “What in hell do you think you’re doing?”
    “No!”  The girl heard the step and whirled around before he could answer.  “Stay back.”  She retreated, backing away while eyeing them both a little wildly.  Her hand clutched her chest, riding along with the rise and fall of her heaving bosom.  Beneath her fingers the beading and embroidery at her décolletage sparkled—and drew attention to the ragged tear in the fabric. 
    Aldmere’s hands tightened into fists.  Long dormant protective instincts were stretching, raising curious tendrils in his chest.  Ruthlessly he knocked them back down.  No one needed the trouble that came with those damned things—least of all this appealing little woman.
    “Get out, Aldmere,” the marquess ordered.  “Whatever business we have can wait.  As you can see, I’ve something to settle with my affianced bride.”
    Something dark settled over him.  Damn it, Marstoke was going to make him interfere.  He was going to break his most solemn vow not once, but twice in one evening.
    He met the girl’s dark eyes again, drank in the smooth, pure cream of her skin—and thought she might be worth it.
    “Come now, Marstoke,” he said wearily.  “Let her go.”  This wasn’t the way he wished to enter these negotiations.  “We’ve more important matters to discuss.”  The marquess was a crafty bastard and Aldmere was putting himself at a disadvantage.  For the sake of this girl—and her perfectly kissable mouth.
    She didn’t appreciate it.  Her creamy skin washed pink, then pale again.  “More important matters?”  A diminutive pillar of indignation, she drew herself straight.  “You are no better than he.” 
    Aldmere had no chance to respond.  She raised her free hand and