The Duke's Counterfeit Wife by Louise Allen

Author:Louise Allen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2021-09-10T18:02:03+00:00

* * *

Nicholas stood up as Sarah came into the parlour the next morning, Millie at her heels. Breakfast had just been set out, the bacon was sending curls of appetising steam into the air, the coffee pot was competing with its own tantalising odours and his bed had been comfortable.

He should, in fact, have been feeling up to whatever the day threw at him.

Sarah met his gaze, went a charming shade of peony pink and sat down with a muttered, ‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning.’ He was blushing too, he realised as he sat down, although he doubted it was anything but an embarrassing adolescent scarlet. It had taken him hours to fall asleep in defiance of his body which was informing him in no uncertain terms about exactly what it wanted. He had finally managed to drop into a restless doze filled with fevered and exceedingly explicit images of himself and Sarah and a large bed covered—for some reason best known to his unconscious mind—in sheepskins.

In his dreams he had kissed her and caressed her and sated himself with her in ways that no gentleman should even allow to cross his mind in connection with an innocent young lady. And now she sat there, the curve of her cheek still pink. For a hideous, stomach-swooping moment he thought he had said something, blurted something out or leered or—

Nicholas got his rioting imagination back under control with an effort that was almost physical. ‘Bacon? Or may I pass you the eggs?’

The look in Sarah’s eyes as she glanced up might have been appropriate if he had said what was truly on his mind.

Last night I dreamt about how soft the skin on the inside of your thighs would be under my hand. I imagined kissing your nipples until you sobbed for more.

‘Bacon?’ She blinked once, twice, then appeared to come out of whatever daydream she was in. ‘Yes, thank you. I would like that. Bacon, I mean.’

Nicholas ate his breakfast in a state of mental turmoil that he had last experienced when he was seventeen. He had no idea what he was feeling, or, rather, he knew damn well what he was feeling, but he had no idea what it meant.

That kiss, that angry fight of a kiss—surely it could only have revolted and repulsed an innocent? But it had been mutual: Sarah had kissed him back with as much intent, as much furious intensity, as he had kissed her. He could still taste her if he closed his eyes, despite tooth powder and coffee and bacon. Could she still taste him? Was it possible that her dreams had been as disturbingly erotic as his had been?

A third cup of coffee brought some discipline to the speculation. Whatever the effect of that embrace had been on either of them, the fact remained that Sarah Parrish was a respectable spinster under his protection. He had no business thinking about her in any other terms and most certainly not the slightest excuse for acting upon those thoughts.

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