Linda Needham by My Wicked Earl Read Free Book Online

Everingham!”
    “Debauchery?” Charles would have laughed, because he was long done with that facet of his life, but the boy’s face came back again: his supposed son’s, the product of his past—knee-high to him, with huge, dark eyes, chin upturned and quivering.
    Hollie hadn’t actually ever heard anything vile about Everingham’s morals. On the contrary,society ladies seemed to clamor for the privilege of his attention—at least according to the items she’d devoured about him in the gossip columns. Once or twice she’d even allowed herself to imagine herself on the man’s arm at a ball, smiling up at him, dancing inside the circle of those strong arms.
    “Hold still, madam.”
    And now she was his prisoner, draped over his shoulder like a sack of barley and on her way to the West Room. Which was no doubt some specially designed garret jail, a tiny, stifling tower belfry with no windows and bats instead of rats.
    She shivered and stopped struggling to be free, because fighting against him only made him tighten his grip around her hips, which wasn’t exactly an unpleasant sensation. His hands were brutishly large, his fingers brazenly familiar where they strayed in his single-minded mission. But most shockingly inexcusable of all, they were gentle and so very hot.
    She was, after all, supposed to be a married woman. And with any luck, the ruse would gain her freedom tomorrow morning.
    “I can walk myself, my lord.”
    “Yes, but you won’t in the direction I prefer.”
    With his hands planted where they oughtn’t be, the beast carried her down the upstairs hall, across the landing of the grand marble staircase that rose from the cavernously echoing foyer below, and finally paused at the last door in thehall. In one smooth swirl, he lifted her off his shoulder and set her on her feet on the woollen runner.
    “In here, madam.” He opened the door, fitted his broad hand to the small of her back, and ushered her inside, as possessively familiar as ever.
    She went reluctantly to her cell, expecting the worst. But the room was palatial and inviting, deeply saturated with forest hues, rich wines, and autumn maples.
    Flames burned in the hearth—Mumberton had been very quick in his preparations—producing a smooth blanket of dark orange that touched the drapes and the polished mahogany and the fine carpet that she curled her toes into as she stood amidst all this shimmering splendor.
    And at its center was a tester bed so tall that a two-step stair was tucked against it, so broad and piled with pillows, so utterly inviting, that she wanted to climb up and lose herself beneath the sleek, silver-gold silk counterpane, lofted by the finest down.
    The whole room smelled of bay and rare raw spices and…
    And—bloody blazes—it smelled of—
    Him!
    She whirled on the man and his oppressive height, stuck her finger into the middle of his chest, and instantly regretted it because of the pulsing heat she found there. “This is your chamber.”
    “It is.”
    “I’m not sharing your bed.”
    “No, madam, you’re not. To my eternal sorrow.”
    “What?” Her ears were burning crimson, muddling his words.
    “If you recall, we have just left Mumberton, madam. Your bed isn’t ready yet.”
    “It was when I got into it five hours ago. I should be fast asleep there now, Everingham.”
    “You have your husband to thank for that.”
    “My—” My what? she’d almost said. She gathered back her senses and left the heat of him for the hearth, and found it lacking. “If I ever see my husband again, I’ll tell him how you abducted me. If he’ll accept me back to the marital bed after my reputation’s been so casually tainted by you.”
    “Believe me, madam, I have no intention of inviting you to my bed.”
    His outright dismissal shouldn’t have stung, shouldn’t have made her blush or worry that she was lacking; she should have been grateful.
    “Good, my lord, because I certainly wouldn’t accept the offer,