Secrets of a Perfect Night by Stephanie Laurens, Victoria Alexander, Rachel Gibson Read Free Book Online

eyes widen—they were plain, basic brown, nothing like the startling shade of his, with their mesmeric power. She felt it anew—and knew if he drew her to him and kissed her, she’d permit it. More—she’d welcome him back and encourage him further. Much further. Her lips yearned for the touch of his; her body ached to feel his arms locked about her, his hands upon her.
    “No.” The word came to her lips unbidden. “This is where you should be—this is where you belong.”
    His lips lifted; the intensity that surrounded her faded, just a little. He raised her hand and touched his lips to her knuckles. “You understand.”
    Abby understood that if they remained here much longer, she’d do something stupid. “We’d better go up.” She retrieved her hand. “It’s getting late.”
    He inclined his head and stepped back. She led the way upstairs, highly conscious of his lingering gaze and the strange light in his amber eyes.

     
    Bolt was better the next morning, but at Abby’s suggestion and Adrian’s subsequent orders, the tiger remained in bed the better to throw off his cough. Adrian and Tom, both imprisoned for more than twenty-four hours, were eager to get out on the pretext of fetching the luggage and clearing the curricle’s wreckage from the ford. By the time they’d cleared the front step and a path to the gate, it was time for lunch. They set out immediately after.
    “I’ll come, too.” Abby stood as Adrian did.
    He stopped and frowned. “That’s not a good idea. The ground’s still icy—”
    “If you can go, I can go.” Abby didn’t wait to argue, but swept out into the hall.
    Adrian stared after her, then looked at Esme. She met his gaze, and shrugged. “Always was a headstrong gel.”
    “Headstrong?” Adrian had another word for it.
    “Witless!” That was the word; he uttered it in scathing accents as he watched Abby slither down the slope—to his mind, risking life and limb. She landed with an “Ouff!” in a drift; he stumped over to haul her out of it. “I should have put my foot down—you should have stayed safe in the parlor with Esme.”
    Jerked unceremoniously to her feet, Abby fixed him with a narrow-eyed glare. “I’m an independent lady—I obey no one’s orders.”
    Adrian narrowed his eyes back, but it had no effect; Abby tossed her head and stepped out—and skidded on. Literally growling, he followed.
    They reached the curricle. Viewing it in decent light, it was worse than Adrian had thought. Abby stared, alittle pale, but whether that was due to the cold or shock, he couldn’t tell. She watched but said nothing as he and Tom pulled his traveling case and Bolt’s bag from the wreck. Then they set to, using the shovels they’d brought with them to free the wreckage from the snow. They lifted it from the streambed and piled it to one side of the ford, well out of the way.
    “Right.” Warmed by his exertions, Adrian blew out a breath. It all but crystallized in the air. The day was cloudy, the temperature still well below freezing. Rejoining Abby on the village side of the ford, he and Tom sorted the shovels and bags.
    “I can carry something,” Abby insisted. Neither Adrian nor Tom appeared to hear. She inwardly humphed. Tom ended carrying both shovels over his shoulder, and took Bolt’s small bag in one hand. Adrian hefted his case; at his wave, she turned and preceded him up the slope.
    The air was clean and crisp. Halfway up, she paused to look through a gap in the downs that revealed a long view to the southeast. White rolling hills stretched to the horizon; the sight was dramatic, primitive, almost eerie in the heavy silence.
    Adrian was following in Abby’s footsteps, head down as he trudged. He saw her hems too late and walked into her. Wrapping his free arm around her, hand splaying across her midriff, he steadied her, locking her, shoulder to hips, back against him.
    He felt the sudden hitch in her breathing, felt the tension that shot through