Married to the Viscount by Sabrina Jeffries Read Free Book Online Page A

do.” He arched one eyebrow. “I can be a ‘particularly talented liar’ myself when necessary.”
    “Then it runs in the family,” she said sweetly.
    For the first time since her arrival, he laughed. “Apparently.” Opening the door, he beckoned to his hoity-toity butler. “McFee, show our guest to her room and have trays sent up for her and her servant. And have baths drawn, too.”
    “Thank you,” Abigail breathed.
    His warm smile fleetingly reminded her of the man she’dso easily agreed to marry. It made her chest hurt with the loss of him.
    “Well then,” he said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
    When he started to walk out in only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, she leaped up from the chaise longue. “Lord Ravenswood!”
    He stopped to look back. “Yes?”
    “You’ll need this.” Holding together the gaping edges of her bodice with one hand, she held his coat out with the other.
    Walking up to her, he reached for it. When his hand brushed hers, the frisson of heat that sparked between them so flustered her that she lost hold of the bodice she’d been holding closed.
    His gaze dropped down to her exposed chemise, and his breath quickened until it matched the frenzied pace of her own breathing. For a moment, the dark intensity of his stare made her think he might actually kiss her.
    Then he seemed to shake himself, and his gaze jerked back to her face. “I believe, Miss Mercer, you had better keep the coat,” he said in a throaty murmur that resounded low inside her. He circled around behind her. “After everything that has gone on in this house tonight, the last thing my guests will care about is my missing coat.”
    Demurring, she let him put it on her. But every whisper of his hand along her shoulder stirred up butterflies in her belly, and every accidental brush of his fingers against her hair resonated to the farthest ends of her silly, besotted heart. Her pulse stumbled the whole time he stood close, swamping her with his delicious scent.
    Heavenly day, she had to stop these reactions. He might smell the same as he did in America, and he might occasionally be as kind as he’d been then, but he wasn’t the friendly and fascinating gentleman she’d been so eager to marry. He was a viscount very aware of his own consequence. And she’d best remember that.

    By the time he stepped away, she had herself under control, despite the tang of bergamot and wine that clung to his coat and bombarded her senses.
    Hastily she fastened up the buttons. At least his coat would hide her open bodice, even if it did look comical. When she faced him to find his lips twitching from the effort not to smile, that small politeness made her wonder if she’d been too hasty in her assumptions about his character.
    “Can you manage along now?” he asked.
    His gentle tone brought a lump to her throat. “Yes.”
    Dear heaven, she could handle this mess so much easier when he was being officious and viscountlike. Whenever these vestiges of the man she’d known before appeared, they made her long for what she knew she couldn’t have.
    She gazed up at him, wishing she had the right to smooth that tendril of dusky brown hair back over his ear or straighten his starch-scented cravat where it had been knocked slightly awry. “I believe I was wrong earlier. You are a nice man after all.”
    He looked nonplussed. Then a cynical smile curved up his lips. “Do keep that opinion under your hat. Otherwise, I’ll never be able to lift my head in Parliament.”
    She couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Don’t worry—my lips are sealed.”
    “Thank God,” he said evenly, but his gaze dropped to her lips as if actually checking for a seal.
    Or something else entirely, for as his eyes fixed on her mouth, they turned molten, provoking an odd heat to rise deep in her belly.
    By the time he tipped his head and murmured, “Until tomorrow then,” she’d forgotten what they’d been talking about. And after he was gone, she