The Corrupt Comte by Edie Harris Read Free Book Online Page B

himself.
    It was the task of mere seconds to slip into the empty room next to the closet where the footmen had neatly deposited every coat, cloak and various accoutrements from the party guests, where he snatched an embroidered ice-blue wrap made of silk so fine that its owner would surely miss it.
    He quickly closed the door behind him and turned to Claudia. “Take it.” He draped the shawl around her shoulders, adjusting its thin layers to properly hide the bruise he’d left behind.
    “It’s not m-mine.”
    It took real effort to tear his gaze from her neck and the evidence that his teeth had sunk into her so-soft skin. He’d never bitten a woman, and had certainly never felt one climax violently around his fingers when he did so. He tried to remember if he’d ever witnessed a woman coming so hard, coming apart in his arms, on his fingers, under his mouth.
    The answer was no .
    “You are only borrowing it.” He withdrew his hands, allowing Claudia to draw the wrap more securely around her upper body.
    Her head remained down-bent. “P-people will know s-s-something happened, if I return with th-this.”
    “If they see my mark, oui , they might suspect.” He shouldn’t like saying that quite so much— my mark , as though he’d branded her like chattel. “But they may only suppose you are cold.”
    Accepting his shoddy explanation without further question, she lifted her head and settled her shoulders. A mask of cool confidence stared back at him, revealing no evidence of the wanton young woman who’d moaned into his mouth only minutes earlier. Claudia Pascale was once again the picture of quiet determination she’d presented to the parlor, before their foray into the linen closet, and Gaspard felt as inexplicably drawn to this side of her now as he had then.
    Though perhaps the attraction was no longer inexplicable. He was aroused to the point of pain, and as they approached the parlor door, he scrambled to douse the flames she’d ignited. He couldn’t walk back into the parlor with his cock doing battle with the buttons of his trousers. Especially since his cock appeared to be winning.
    Think of discovery. Think of death.
    Think of the captain’s tent.
    That did the trick. As always.
    His hand on the doorknob, he paused. “You want Sabien? It is simple.” He couldn’t look at her while he said it. “At the next soirée, ask for his assistance. Draw him away from the crowd.” His stomach clenched tight, but he bit out the rest. “Once you are alone, pull him down and whisper in his ear. Kiss him as I taught you.” But not so passionately. Not with such wild abandon. And don’t let him get his hand up your skirts.
    She nodded, gaze earnest with ugly gratitude. “I will. M-merci , Comte. ”
    Unable to stomach her incessant nearness any longer, Gaspard flung open the door and adopted what he hoped was a bored expression as he strode across the hushed parlor toward the corner that housed Sabien and his beloved bottle of bourbon. He didn’t wait to see if she had followed him into the room, knowing she had, the quiet tread of her footsteps moving in the opposite direction to a vacant spot of wall along which she could grow her grasping vines.
    What a bitter, unkind wretch he was.
    “That was longer than fifteen minutes,” Sabien murmured in French as he stared over Gaspard’s shoulder, and Gaspard knew he was looking at Claudia, just as the rest of them were.
    He couldn’t. If he looked in her direction and saw any new awareness gleaming in her eyes, his erection would come back full force, and he’d need to leave the room to…take care of things.
    That his fingers—the same fingers bearing her intimate scent—ached to wrap around his cock and pump until seed filled his palm was an urge he must ignore, much as he must ignore Claudia Pascale herself.
    He’d set her on the path toward Sabien. Taught her to kiss, stripped her of her virgin barrier, introduced her to pleasure and granted her