1939912059 (R) by Delilah Marvelle Read Free Book Online Page A

to keep her from following the basket to the ground. Jerking her upward and toward himself to steady her, his rigid body and expression stilled.
    Pausing, he eyed her lips.
    She could feel the pulse of his large hands on her waist as he edged his mouth down and closer to hers. The heat of his apple-sweetened breath fanned her lips.
    He hovered, but did nothing.
    She stiffly clung to him, her heart pounding as the intensity of his blue eyes dug into her, hinting that he wanted far, far more than mere lips. It made her stomach flip.
    She had only ever kissed a man once. A year earlier a young royal soldier who was off to fight against the riots had jogged out of line from the regiment and begged her for a kiss on the side of the road. She only did it because she doubted he would ever get another.
    She swallowed and waited for those lips to take hers.
    He released her and stepped back, his expression unreadable.
    She staggered between breaths. Was she losing her ability to charm? Any other man would have kissed more than her mouth by now.
    He widened his stance, surveying her with annoyed superiority. “Why did you not kiss me? I gave you plenty of time.”
    She gasped, regaining what little common sense she had left. The blighter! He had been waiting for her to—
    The horse perked and quickly hoofed its way between them to the nearest apple, swiping it up with its large, yellow teeth. With the shake of its head, it chewed obnoxiously, spraying juice as it headed for another apple and another and another, fully intending on eating them all.
    She gasped again and waved a hand toward the horse. “Tell him to stop eating my apples!”
    “Oh, come now,” he drawled. “Has he not earned it? This here chap is taking you to Paris.”
    She set her hands on her hips. “He could be gracious enough to leave me one . Now call him off. I have not eaten anything all morning.”
    The horse stepped onto her cracked mirror, shattering it.
    She gasped again as it dragged her gown along the path to find another apple.
    A throaty laugh escaped Gérard. “Pardon his manners. He takes after me.”
    She swung toward him, a shaky breath escaping her. “Your horse is destroying what little I own, and you find that amusing?”
    His amusement faded. He stared at her, his eyes penetrating the distance between them. “Forgive him and forgive me.”
    Something about him unnerved her, yet lured her. It was as if he were a higher being struggling to be human. Averting her gaze, she straightened her basket and gathered what few items she could. The ones that hadn’t been mangled, that was.
    She scrambled for her leather-bound book.
    He knelt beside her on the dirt path. “Leave it be. I will do it.”
    “No, I—” She paused noting the expensive wool of his beige breeches had stretched and tightened against the taut, bulking muscle pushing beneath them. It was as if his entire body were made of steel. The flap of his trouser appeared to be well-filled, too.
    She cringed at noticing.
    Picking up the book, he turned it over to glance at the golden lettering and paused. His gaze veered to hers in astonishment. “Do you speak English?”
    “No. Of course not. I am as French as champagne.”
    He lowered his chin. “Then why do you have a book written in English?”
    Puckering her lips in annoyance, she took it from his hand and tucked it into her basket where it belonged. The last thing she wanted or needed was for him or any man knowing that, at heart, she was a weakling of a stupid romantic. Because she knew full well men took advantage of women with stars in their eyes. “Because one day,” she tossed out, “I plan to read it.”
    A travelling British couple who had spent an entire day cooing at each other in English over a meal at the inn had left it. While she had tried to run it after them, their coach had already departed, and they never came back to claim it. The way the two had gloried in one another made her hold onto the book and