Lady Beauchamp's Proposal by Secret Cravings Publishing Read Free Book Online Page B

little
to her.
    He brushed his thumb across Beth’s silver
wedding ring, and tried to rouse her again by calling her name. Her
eyelids did not flicker in the slightest.
    Hell and damnation. He was going to
have to undress her himself.
    Aside from Mrs. Roberts—the butler’s
wife—who was currently indisposed, there were no other female
servants at Eilean Tor. After Isabelle’s death, her lady’s maid had
secured another position, and the nursemaid who looked after
Annabelle had gone with his daughter to Edinburgh. And the few
scullery maids from the village who Mrs. Roberts saw fit to employ
within the kitchen, were all currently in Torhaven caring for their
own sick families, or they were unwell themselves.
    She’s sick and unconscious, man—just
bloody get on with it. He’d fought at Waterloo himself for
Christ’s sake. Why should he hesitate when it came to carrying out
such a simple task? Hadn’t he undressed women hundreds of times? He
knew what to do—could do it with his eyes closed in fact. But the
difference was, the women had always been awake and willing.
    Sighing heavily in resignation, Rothsburgh
moved down to the end of the bed and unlaced Mrs. Eliott’s black
ankle boots, before tugging them off. Despite his best intentions
not to pay attention to particular details about her, he noticed
that beneath her fine silk stockings, she had small, delicate feet
and slender ankles. Blowing out another exasperated breath, he
placed her boots by the hearth to dry, and then returned to sit
next to her.
    “Mrs. Eliott…Beth, wake up.”
    Still, there was no response.
    Now comes the hardest part —taking off
her dress and undergarments. He couldn’t help but smile ruefully at
himself for his choice of words, because despite his best efforts, his part was growing exactly that—hard as a bloody rock. At
least Mrs. Eliott wouldn’t notice.
    Gritting his teeth, he set about undoing the
jet buttons of her black woolen spencer. He eased her forward,
trying to ignore the feel of her breath against his cheek as he
slid the jacket off. Whilst he was not overly au fait with
the fashions of the day, he noticed that her clothes were well-cut
and of high quality.
    Interesting . Perhaps her husband had
been an officer. She must have had a little money at some point. He
guessed she must hail from the middle-classes. That would also
explain her perfect annunciation and genteel accomplishments,
although not so much her brusque manner. He smiled, recalling the
flash of her silver-grey eyes when she’d stood up to his deliberate
taunting. She had spirit, he’d give her that much.
    He cast his eyes over the bodice of her
travelling dress, more black wool, trimmed about the modest
neckline with black lace. No buttons; the gown obviously did up at
the back. As gently as he could, he rolled her onto her side, then
quickly released the small jet fastenings. As each one slid open,
he exposed her fine linen shift and lightly boned stays that also
laced down the back.
    He’d been right when he’d assumed that she
was slender; perhaps she was even a little too thin. He could
clearly see the outline of her elegant spine and her small waist as
he unlaced her stays. However, as he rolled her back then gently
eased off the garments, he was surprised to see that she had quite
an ample bust, despite her slimness. Through her wet shift, he
couldn’t help but notice that her breasts were perfectly rounded
and her peaked nipples were a dusky pink beneath the flimsy,
transparent fabric. He swallowed and returned his gaze to her face,
suddenly feeling as guilty as a youth caught spying through a
keyhole at a woman attending to her toilette.
    But she was still asleep, thank God. He was
as randy as a stallion, his balls in sheer agony. And he hadn’t
even taken off her wet shift.
    To distract himself, he picked up her
discarded clothes and draped them over a chair before the fire.
Turning back was a mistake. Perhaps she had moved—he