The Secrets of a Moonlit Night (The Oddflower Series) by Elisa Braden

Author:Elisa Braden [Braden, Elisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, romance, Historical
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2023-10-13T16:00:00+00:00

She’d let her hair down, allowing the shining mass of curls to tumble over her breasts like coppery brown silk. She’d removed her spectacles, revealing a face so exquisite, one might mistake her for a painter’s nymph. She’d removed her cloak and gown—everything but her chemise, in fact—and draped herself in his greatcoat.

Which was hanging open while she tipped the bottle up to her lips.

His view was pure torment. Hard nipples and full, round breasts pressed outward beneath a sheer layer of linen. One russet curl teased the right nipple. The edge of his coat played with the left. Her lovely white throat rippled as she downed the last of her bottle. She wiped her mouth with her thumb, but a drop remained on that sumptuous lower lip. It glimmered in the lantern light, a flagrant taunt.

He gripped his tools hard enough to break. “Why are you wearing my coat?”

Sleepy cat’s eyes blinked up at him then glanced down at the engulfing wool. “I was wet.”

God, he shouldn’t have asked.

“It’s been a hideous day. Don’t be cross, Mr. Warwick. I’ll return it, I promise.”

His heart pounded. His cock pounded. Everything around him pulsed.

Then she smiled, her eyes tilting magically. She looked like sunlight after a storm. “I’m not a thief any longer. I can’t even lie properly to the children.” She clicked her tongue. “It’s Arthur. The way he looks at me. The way they all do, really.”

“How is that?”

“Like I’m worth something.” She rubbed the bottle between her breasts. “Makes my heart hurt. Do you ever have that feeling, Mr. Warwick?”

He swallowed. Yes. This very second, in fact.

“Probably not,” she whispered. “You’re bloody perfect.”

“That you would utter such patent nonsense means you’re too sotted to be standing at the top of a staircase.”

She gave an owlish blink. “S’true. You are perfect. And I’m only a bit tipsy.” She held her thumb and forefinger in front of her eye. “Just a little.”

Bracing himself for further torment, he laid his tools down and gently escorted her back to the main cellar. Next, he gathered up a hefty pile of straw, spread a dusty canvas sheet over it, and beckoned her closer.

She spent several seconds weaving in place before sliding her hand into his. He helped her sit and placed her empty bottle in a crate. “Stay there. The closer you are to solid ground, the better.”

Giggling, she collapsed back into the bed he’d made her, spreading her arms wide. “Oh, Thomas. May I call you Thomas?”

He gritted his teeth as she propped up on her elbows and arched her back, seemingly unconcerned that his coat covered none of the important bits. “No,” he answered, his voice reduced to a thread.

“Mr. Warwick is too dour and serious. Thomas serves me wine and makes me a feather bed to lie upon.”

“You chose the wine. You opened the wine. You drank the wine. I had minimal involvement.”

“It was lovely. And much needed. Thank you.”

“Additionally, the bed is straw, not feathers.”

She collapsed onto her straw bed and sighed sweetly.

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