The Perfect Kiss by Anne Gracíe Read Free Book Online

intensified and she averted her gaze as he stripped off his coat and shirt and used one of the chair covers to dry his skin.
    “Right, I’m dry enough now—or would you prefer me to remove my breeches too?” Both the doctor and Miss Pettifer made horrified noises, so Dominic scooped Sir John up. “Lead the way then, Miss Pettifer,” he said with a sardonic smile.
    The little companion was waiting at the top of the stairs. She did not look half drowned anymore, but she was still in her damp clothes. And her eyes were as bright as ever.
    “Lord D’Acre .” She snipped out his name and bobbed a halfhearted curtsy.
    So she was still cross with him about that. Seemingly, the fact that she’d been kissed by a lord annoyed her even more than when she thought him an impossible gypsy . Dominic’s mood lifted immediately.
    “Miss- tress Greystoke.” He inclined his head in an urbane, lordly gesture.
    Her eyes narrowed and she said in a tight voice, “In here, please.” She gestured to an open door, where he could see a freshly made bed, the glow of a dozen candles, and a crackling fire. It was by far the most welcoming room in the house.
    She ran ahead and tugged the bedclothes back. He laid Sir John gently on the bed and straightened. Her eyes widened as she took in Dominic’s nakedness.
    She did not look away, as Miss Pettifer had, with blushes and pursed, disapproving lips.
    Greystoke stared. With wide eyes and softly parted lips. As if she’d never seen a man’s chest before.
    She probably hadn’t.
    The thought pleased him.
    He said, “Doctor Ferguson and I will deal with Sir John. You two run along and do something useful.”
    His words snapped Grace out of her trance. She jerked her gaze from his chest. “But—”
    “We’ll call you if we need you. And, Greystoke—” The strange golden eyes stabbed at Grace. “Change out of those wet clothes.”
    And without knowing quite how it happened, Grace and Melly found themselves on the other side of a firmly closed door. And before they could say a word, they heard a key click in the lock.
    “Well, really!” said Grace, annoyed at being told to run along, as if she were a child. After all she had done.
    “But I’m Papa’s daughter!” Melly wailed. “He needs me!”
    They exchanged frustrated looks. “Mannerless devil though he is, he’s right,” Grace decided at last. “Your papa wouldn’t want two young females putting him into his nightshirt. Let us select bedchambers for ourselves and make up our beds.”
    They chose a bedchamber for Melly across the corridor from Sir John’s room, so she would be close if he needed her in the night. It was a pretty room, a very feminine bedchamber, with faded brocade bed hangings in rose and cream and green. Grace loved it on sight. It looked out over the side lawn area, to an odd mound of rubble, overgrown with masses of red roses, and beyond that, to the mountains of Wales.
    There was a large bed and a small one, so, because the house was so big and strange and empty, they decided by mutual consent to share the room. At least Melly’s reason was that she was frightened to sleep alone in a big, strange house.
    Grace’s reason was one she didn’t state aloud: she didn’t trust the master of the house. Not as far as she could throw him. Him and his wicked golden eyes and his naked, golden torso.
    Melly must have read her mind, for as they started to make up the beds she said, “You know, I nearly fainted when he just took off his shirt! He wasn’t even wearing an undershirt! I’ve never seen anything so shocking in my life! I didn’t know where to look!”
    “Yes, he has no manners at all,” Grace agreed. She had looked. She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off that expanse of dark golden skin. So smooth and warm and strong. She’d wanted to run her fingers over it. And he’d known it, too, the devil! He’d caught her watching and smiled at her, a slow, wicked smile of . . . of smug