Suzanne Robinson by Lady Dangerous Read Free Book Online Page A

servants, and I don’t want to.”
    “You will.” He held her wrists with one hand and touched his fingertip to her lips. “One thing you learn out west, good loving is scarce. You got to take it when you find it.”
    “No!”
    His hand wandered to her hip, then brushed down her thigh. Unfortunately, there was no padding to protect her when he slipped his hand under her skirts. His hand was warm as it caressed her ankle.
    “You got small ankles for such a plump little thing.”
    She kicked, dislodging his hand, but again he seemed not to notice her reluctance. Then it came toher. He wasn’t going to stop. He’d forgotten where he was, who he was. She could tell by his drawl, by the way he moved his body, all loose-limbed and snakelike, but deliberate.
    She raised her voice. “My lord, you must stop.”
    “Why?”
    She met his gaze and encountered ruthlessness fed by something fierce and unknown, something that caused his skin to burn and his hips to move against her in a way she’d never experienced. In that moment she knew that none of her reasons, based as they were on propriety and honor, mattered to this man. If she couldn’t stop him some other way, he would take what he wanted. He’d been doing it for too long in places where civilization wasn’t even a word.
    “You—you can’t.” Where were her wits?
    “Yes, I can. Now be quiet. Soon that whining’ll change to moaning. Then I won’t mind you making noise.”
    “Ah-hum.”
    She started at the sound of another voice. At the same time, Jocelin Marshall sprang off her, slapped his hand to his hip, where a holster should have been, and turned to face Loveday. She scrambled off the couch. Loveday regarded his employer calmly, his hands full with a brush and a shining top hat. Liza glanced uneasily from the younger man to the older. The viscount stared at the valet, his brow furrowed.
    “Our new evening outfit has come from the tailor, my lord. If we are to have dinner in Grosvenor Square, we must try our new raiment to be sure of the fit.”
    “Grosvenor Square,” the viscount said as if he’d never heard the words.
    “Indeed, my lord. Lady Georgiana and her gracehave both sent notes. Lady Georgiana spoke to me herself and expressly asked me to beg of you not to be late, as she has missed your lordship greatly.”
    “Lady—my sister.”
    As Loveday spoke, the viscount blinked several times, then glanced quickly at Liza. His hand balled into a fist. He straightened, assuming a military stance, and placed the fist behind his back.
    “Thank you, Loveday. I shan’t be late.”
    “I assume Miss Gamp may go about her other duties?” Loveday asked.
    “Of course.”
    Liza’s mouth almost fell open as the gunfighter vanished again beneath the cloak of a bored nobleman. Without another glance at her, the viscount turned his back and walked to the desk. When she left, he was idly perusing the stack of invitations lying upon it as if his greatest concern was whether he would have time to visit his club tonight.

T he plump and peevish maid had vanished from Jocelin’s thoughts. His family had accomplished this feat, though for a few hours he hadn’t thought it possible even for the Marshalls. Yet here he was, listening to the perpetually hesitant rustle of his mother’s skirts as she left the dining room, followed by the clicking of Georgiana’s slippers against the floorboards. When the doors closed, he abandoned his officer’s posture. Slouching down in his chair, he opened his coat, rested his ankle on his knee, and stuck his thumbs in his waistband.
    He cocked his head and aimed a lazy, gunslinger’s smile at his father, who scowled at him in silence because the butler was offering him port.
    Jocelin shook his head at the proffered decanter. “Whiskey, please, Vincent.”
    When Vincent was gone, Jocelin downed his whiskey in one gulp.
    “A sot’s drink,” the duke said.
    Jocelin poured himself another glass and lifted it to his father.