How to Seduce a Scot by Christy English Read Free Book Online Page A

life. As long as you are in my presence, you need fear no man or beast.”
    She listened breathlessly to the most poetic oath she had ever heard a man take. He was very solemn, and for a long moment, she felt as if a spell had fallen over them, as if he had sworn more to her than just his respect. The silence spun out, until it seemed to hold a wealth of feeling that made no sense, a layered tapestry of emotion that it would take her a lifetime to understand. She had known this man less than one day. And yet she felt as safe with him as she once had with her own father.
    His lips quirked, and the moment and all its import slipped away. “I will defend you, even if the beast in question is myself.” He smiled, and she found herself laughing out loud.
    â€œThat is reassurance indeed, Mr. Waters. Still, I must go downstairs before your brother takes an ax to the duchess’s beautiful pianoforte to save himself from further pain.”
    It was Mr. Waters’s turn to laugh then, and as she listened to the deep warmth of it, she wished for an odd, wild moment that she might never go anywhere else. His laughter was food enough, bread and meat together.
    She shook her head at her own strange turn of thought. His Scottish poetry must be rubbing off on her.
    â€œRobert has heard far worse than your sister’s playing, I assure you. When Mary Elizabeth was learning, we all thought we might go mad. My brother Ian fled to the sea to escape it.”
    Catherine drew away from him, and this time she forced herself to walk toward the door. “I had better get downstairs, so Mr. Robert Waters does not join him.”
    She had almost made it to the hallway when Alexander caught up with her and took her hand in his.
    â€œYou won’t slip away that easily, my girl. Come with me. A decent cleaning and a decent dressing will take less than five minutes, and will save this from becoming infected. If you were to fall ill from a visit to my house, I would not forgive myself.”
    Catherine had never heard of the odd practice of washing a wound, but she did not want to give up his company just yet. She knew she was wicked and improper, and no doubt her mother would scold her roundly, as she deserved.
    She knew all this, but she went with him anyway.

Six
    The sight of that one, singular woman throwing a knife had been the most erotic thing Alex had ever seen.
    He almost could not speak a word of sense for five minutes after. He’d let his sister prattle on about preparing dinner and killing a man, neither of which she had any experience with, until he had regained his breath and some modicum of self-control.
    The girl had been like a doe in flight as soon as she’d laid eyes on him—frozen before she ran from the hunter. He had been careful to modify his tone, to treat her as he might his sister, but still she would not look at him. He could not help but touch her.
    Now, alone in his room, the most improper place to care for her—wounded slightly or not—he stripped off his black leather gloves. He spoke of the weather, of the ices at Gunter’s, of the ball at Almack’s the night before, all banal, urbane, pointless conversation. Which wasn’t actually a conversation but a monologue, since Miss Middlebrook did not speak a word.
    He knew better than to take her into his bedroom proper, for then his angel would no doubt fly back to heaven at once, never to be seen again. He brought her to his sitting room and fetched wash water for her wound himself.
    She was still waiting for him when he came back. He had not been gone long, but part of him had been certain that she would disappear as soon as he was out of sight. Part of him almost hoped she would, because the tightness in his trousers was becoming uncomfortable from being near her for too long. Of course, it was a sweet discomfort, one he savored as he looked at her.
    The slanting rays of the afternoon sun warmed her yellow hair. It was