Wicked In Your Arms by Jordan Sophie

Author:Jordan, Sophie [Jordan, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Historical
ISBN: 9780062032997
Google: FK1J7IjHGMoC
Amazon: 0062032992
Goodreads: 9519719
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2011-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

It never ceased to impress Grier how many well-bodied ferns could occupy one room, and then she told herself to simply be grateful for that fact. Garbed in an emerald green gown, the great, green leafy fronds camouflaged her form perfectly. A smile lifted her lips. She should only ever dress in green.

Presently she cowered behind one of the plants, happily munching on a tart from her small plate of candied pineapple and iced tarts and sugared fruits—delicacies she’d never tasted before departing Wales. She had to give the aristocracy due credit, they ate like royalty.

As if the mere thought of royalty summoned him, a deep rolling voice asked, “Where do you put it?”

Grier nearly dropped her plate. Whirling around with her hand pressed to her pounding heart, she blinked up at the prince.

“You startled me.”

Her heart pounded harder at his nearness. The memory of the last time she’d seen him surged inside her. Not that the recollection ever lurked far. She’d only kissed two men in her life and he was one of them. And of course his kisses had branded an imprint onto her very soul. Standing near him, she couldn’t recall her own name.

“I see that. I’ve watched you for the last quarter hour. I believe that’s your fourth tart.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but her voice failed her. He’d been watching her? Her fingers grew lax. Her plate tipped ever so slightly. A scone escaped.

His gaze shifted from her face, lingering a long moment on the hand she pressed to her bosom before lowering to stare at the floor where a scone had tripped off her plate and rolled in a gradually slowing circle. “Do they not have food in Wales? In Carynwedd?”

Her attention snapped back to him. “How did you know that I’m from Carynwedd?”

He cocked his dark head. “I know a great many things about you, Miss Hadley.”

“Oh.” Her skin prickled with alarm.

Did he know everything? Did he know that she’d been a game master? A vocation typically reserved for men? Heat flooded her face as his gaze drifted to her mouth, fixing there long enough to make her knees tremble beneath her skirts.

She forced a laugh. “Then you know I am quite the dull creature.” Hardly as exciting as the sophisticated and elegant ladies of his acquaintance, she was sure.

“On the contrary. Is it true you acted as game master after your stepfather’s passing?”

He knew. She winced, unsure how to respond to that. Her father had taken pains to suppress that information. Could Cleo have mentioned it? Or perhaps the dowager had nosed about and learned the details of Grier’s background. She wouldn’t put it past the old lady.

He stared at her intently, waiting.

She tugged the cuff of her sleeve. The fabric suddenly felt constrictive.

“Unusual occupation for a female.”

“One does what they must to survive.”

She held her breath, waiting, expecting his censure—at the very least a display of the same arrogance he’d treated her to before.

Instead he merely nodded, his gold eyes glowing softly in the room’s muted light.

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