A Scandalous Regency Christmas by Christine Merrill Marguerite Kaye Annie Burrows Barbara Monajem Linda Skye

Author:Christine Merrill, Marguerite Kaye, Annie Burrows, Barbara Monajem, Linda Skye
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Harlequin (UK) Ltd
Published: 2012-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE PUSHED OPEN the door to Lord Sinclair’s bedchamber without knocking, slid inside and shut it firmly behind her.

He was sitting in a wingback armchair before the fire, his legs stretched out in front of him, reminding her of the position he’d adopted to watch her strip in the Crossed Oars. Only tonight, he wasn’t fully dressed. He looked as though he’d started to prepare for bed, removing his jacket and waistcoat, then donned a dressing gown to take one last drink before the fire. A decanter sat on a cluttered table at his side. The only glass was the one he held in his hand, from which he was sipping.

“I approve of your attire,” he said as she discarded the shawl she’d wrapped round her shoulders before scurrying along the chilly moonlit corridors to the guest wing.

Pride had made her put on her best nightwear, a confection of silk and lace, held in place by a series of ribbons she could easily slip from their bows herself. She was not going to give him any chance to lay so much as one finger on her this time.

The trouble was, the silk of her gown had already slid over her limbs like a lover’s caress as she’d made her way through the deserted house to his room. It had roused her body to want things it had no business wanting. If only he didn’t hate and despise her, she would have been hurrying to this clandestine assignation eagerly.

Instead of which, the very fact that they were the only ones who had not gone to church increased her feelings of shame and resentment.

He beckoned to her.

Her heart, which was already pounding from her dash through the house, picked up speed still further. Knowing that if she hesitated, she might never pluck up courage to go through with it, she tugged the ribbon of her robe loose, and let it slide from her shoulders.

The gown she wore underneath was of the sheerest ivory silk, inset with panels of blond lace. It hid virtually nothing, yet she knew he would not even permit her this much to hide behind.

Lifting her chin, she tore open the front fastenings until she could let that garment, too, slide down her body and pool round her feet on the floor.

In the distance, she heard the stable clock striking the half hour.

“No attempt to fuddle my brain with teasing and tempting me, eh? I can only assume you have learned your lesson from last time,” he said wryly. “If you play with fire, you risk getting burned. And speaking of which,” he said, “you had better come closer.”

For a moment, she hesitated. But then, tearing her eyes from his face, she saw he was gesturing to a mound of cushions and quilts covering the hearthrug.

Head high, she stalked across the room to where he sat. But her knees were shaking so much that she could make no attempt to sit down gracefully. She just dropped to the floor at his feet.

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