Tempted by a Lady’s Smile by Christi Caldwell Read Free Book Online Page A

“Do not,” she rasped, her chest moving hard and fast in time to the frantic beat of her heart.
    Except he was stock still, eying her through impossibly long, chestnut lashes, she’d have traded both of her smallest fingers for.
    “That should not have happened.”
    “Because of your heart’s greatest yearning?” He lowered his head slightly shrinking the space between them. “Tell me, though, Gemma—”
    “I did not give you leave to use my Christian name.”
    Richard stroked the pad of his thumb over her lower lip and her mouth trembled at the faint caress. “I believe our kisses merit such familiarity.” His gruff baritone washed over her, dulling her senses, thickening her blood.
    Oh, God, he is going to kiss me—again. This man, more stranger than anything, whose name she’d only just gleaned, and yet who knew so very much about her. “Is your heart’s yearning a product of the desire for a future title of duchess or the marquess’ wealth?” She’d have to be deaf as a post to fail to hear the thread of mockery underscoring that question.
    The momentary fog of desire he’d cloaked her in lifted. A growl of frustration worked up her throat. “You sir, are no gentleman,” she seethed and jabbed her finger into the hard wall of his chest. He didn’t so much as flinch. Not even a hint that he so much as noted her poke. She shoved her finger into his chest once more for good measure. “I’ll have you know that my love for Lord Westfield has nothing to do with the gentleman’s wealth or title.” Gemma ticked her chin up a notch. “Nor do I expect one such as you to know a jot about the emotion of love. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” With head held high, Gemma swept past him, pulled the door open, and slipped into the hall.
    Except, as she made her hasty flight down the blessedly empty corridors, she could not quell the panicky dread that this was not the last dealing she’d have with Mr. Richard Jonas and his wickedly sensual smile.

Chapter 4
    R ichard hadn’t the slightest interest in attending a single morning meal with the Duke of Somerset’s carefully selected guests.
    That was, until this particular morning. Now, as he strolled down the elegant carpet-lined corridors, an inexplicable anticipation filled him. After Eloise had wed his brother, he’d been filled with a jaded restlessness and ennui. In two brief meetings, however, he’d felt a remarkable vigor which, if he were being honest with himself, had everything to do with the spirited minx who’d boldly returned his kisses.
    Richard entered the breakfast room and did a quick search. He took in the handful of guests seated and involuntarily flinched. Down the length of one entire end of the table, perched at the edge of their chairs were a row of young ladies and their mamas. There was only one particular young lady he particularly cared to see.
    Disappointment filled him at finding Gemma Reed absent, which was, of course, madness. She, in her grasping, was no different than the white-ruffled ladies eying him disinterestedly. Those same ladies also sat staring at the doorway for sight of a certain marquess, no doubt, like rapacious predators.
    Richard strode over to the sideboard and accepted the plate handed him by a footman. With a murmured thanks, Richard proceeded to pile sausage, eggs, and kippers onto his plate. The floorboards groaned and he paused mid-movement. Awareness tripped along his spine and he shot a look over his shoulder at the lady who now stood in the doorway. In a manner similar to his own from moments ago, she cast her gaze over the collection of guests assembled, when their stares collided. Her cheeks turned a crimson red to rival the most succulent summer berry. She eyed the path behind her. Did she search for Westfield? Or escape?
    He’d wager the latter. Yet, when most other ladies would flee, she jutted her chin up and made her way to the sideboard. Richard resumed piling his plate with food. “It appeared