Fair Juno by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online Page A

felt justifiedin taking. It was part of the adventure for him not to know her name, but she definitely wanted to know his.
    ‘Martin Willesden, at your service.’ Despite his agony, Martin grinned into the darkness. He was only too willing to serve her in any number of ways.
    ‘Willesden,’ Helen repeated, yawning. Then, her eyes flew wide. ‘Oh heavens! Not the Martin Willesden? The new Earl of Merton?’ Helen twisted to look up into his face.
    Martin was entertained by her tone. ‘’Fraid so,’ he answered. He glanced down, but her expression was hidden by the dark. ‘I presume my reputation has gone before me?’
    ‘Your reputation?’ Helen drew breath. ‘You, dear sir, have been the sole topic of conversation among the tabbies for the last fortnight. They’re all dying for you to show your face! Is the black sheep, now raised to the title, going to join polite society or give us all the go-by?’
    Martin chuckled.
    Helen felt the sound reverberate through his chest. The temptation to stretch her hands over the expanse of hard muscle was all but overwhelming. Resolutely, she quelled it, settling her head once more into his shoulder.
    ‘I’ve no taste for the melodramatic.’ Martin shifted his hold, adjusting to her position. ‘Since landing I’ve been too busy setting things to rights to make my presence known. I’m returning from inspecting my principal seat. I’ll be joining in all the normal pastimes once I get back to London.’
    ‘“All the normal pastimes”?’ Helen echoed. ‘Yes, I can just imagine.’
    ‘Can you?’ Unable to resist, Martin squinted down at her but could not see her face. He could remember it, though— green-flecked amber eyes under perfectly arched brown brows, a straight little nose and wide, full lips, very kissable. ‘What do you know of the pastimes of rakes?’
    Helen resisted the temptation to reply that she had been married to one. ‘Too much,’ she countered, reflecting that that, also, was true. Then the oddity of the conversation struck her. She giggled sleepily. ‘I feel I should point out to you that this is a most improper conversation.’ Her tone was light, as light-hearted as she felt. She was perfectly aware that their present situation was scandalous in the extreme, yet it seemed oddly right, and she was quite content.
    Martin’s views on their situation were considerably more pungent. Sheer madness designed to make his head hurt more than it already did. First she had hit him on the jaw, and caused him to crack his skull. Now this. What more grievous torture could she visit on him?
    With a soft sigh, Helen snuggled against him.
    Martin’s jaw clenched with the effort to remain passive. A chuckle he could only describe as siren-like escaped her. ‘I’ve just thought. I escaped from the clutches of a fop only to spend the night in the arms of one of the most notoriousrakehells London ever produced. Presumably there is a moral in this somewhere.’ She giggled again and, to Martin’s profound astonishment, as innocently and completely as a child, fell asleep.
    Martin lay still, staring at the rough beams overhead. Her admission to a knowledge of rakes and their activities struck him as distinctly odd. Also distinctly distracting. Before his imagination, only too willing to slip its leash, could bring him undone, he put the peculiar statement aside for inspection at a later date—a safer date. Given fair Juno’s apparent quality, taking her declaration at face value and acting accordingly might not be wise.
    With an effort, he concentrated on falling asleep. First, he tried to pretend there was no woman in his arms. That proved impossible. Then he tried thinking of Erica, the mullato mistress he had left behind. That did not work either. Somehow Erica’s dark ringlets and coffee-coloured skin kept transforming to golden curls and luscious white curves. Instead of Erica’s small, dark-tipped breasts, he saw fuller white breasts with dusky pink