The Perfect Kiss by Anne Gracíe Read Free Book Online Page B

medicine and the doctor—I couldn’t carry the valise, but I could ride and fetch the doctor.”
    “I thought the horse had run off into the storm and you’d followed it. So I went back and rode for the doctor on my own horse.”
    She felt guiltier. “I know. I realized what must have happened when I got back to the stables. I’m so sorry. But I thought you’d understand what I’d done. It was the most obvious thing.”
    He gave her an incredulous look, but all he said was, “I didn’t know hired companions could ride.”
    She shrugged. “Some of us do.” It was very hard to concentrate on the conversation with those nipples winking at her. She stared fiercely at his nose.
    He raised his brow. “Astride?”
    She shrugged again. “Why not?”
    He gave another exasperated look, as if to say it should be perfectly obvious why not. “You should have told me you were going.”
    “I know—but it never occurred to me you’d be worried. All I could think of was that time was of the essence. And besides, you’d never have let me go, would you?”
    “No.” He frowned. “Is there something wrong with my nose?”
    She blushed and looked at his ear. “No. If I hadn’t gone, precious time would have been wasted.”
    “Speaking of precious time, I thought I told you to change into some dry clothes! You’ve had time enough to do it.”
    She gave him an incredulous look. “You can talk about inadequate clothing!” She looked pointedly at his chest. It was a mistake. Her hands itched to touch that golden expanse. She folded her arms.
    He shrugged. “My shirt was wet.”
    The shrug drew her attention to his shoulders, so broad and muscular. How had she never known that shoulders could be beautiful?
    “Oh, so you think I should walk about nak—” She broke off hurriedly. She should know not to talk at all when she was . . . distracted.
    “I would have no objection at all to that,” he agreed instantly.
    No, of course he wouldn’t! “This dress is woolen,” she explained to his chin. “Wool holds the heat, whether wet or dry. That’s why fishermen wear woolen jerseys.”
    “I have not the least interest in fishermen’s attire,” he drawled. “Nor in the properties of wool. I told you to change and I meant it! Do you need any help with buttons or laces? I’m very good with them, very quick and nimble.”
    He was outrageous! She forced her mind off those naked, muscular shoulders and said with dignity, “No, thank you!”
    He hitched up his breeches, distracting her again. “If I catch you in that damp dress again, you won’t enjoy the consequences!” He took two long steps down the hall, then paused and turned. A smile hovered around the mobile mouth. “Or maybe you just might.”
    His smile reminded her of another grievance. “Why didn’t you tell me when we first met that you were Lord D’Acre?”
    He raised his brows. “What difference would it have made?”
    “None,” she declared, cross with what she was sure was his deliberate obtuseness. “Except that you are Miss Pettifer’s betrothed, which makes your behavior even more atrocious than I thought it was at the time! Whether a groom or a baron, you are still in need of a lesson in manners!” He couldn’t possibly forget that he’d kissed her twice. She couldn’t.
    His eyes crinkled. “You can give me a lesson in anything you like, Bright Eyes.” He made it sound . . . almost indecent.
    She sniffed, but it was foolish to encourage such grossly improper talk by acknowledging it. “Which is the quickest way to the kitchen?” she asked. “This house, though charming, is something of a rabbit warren.”
    His brows rose. “You think it’s charming?”
    “Yes, very. Why? Don’t you?”
    “Not a bit. It’s ugly and inconvenient.”
    “Hush, do not say so—the gargoyle might hear you and you will hurt his feelings,” she said, shocked.
    He raised his brows. “Gargoyle?”
    “Never say you haven’t seen him? He is downstairs,