The Reluctant Reformer by Lynsay Sands Read Free Book Online

forward with a tray bearing warmed milk with whiskey—James’s own personal remedy for an inability to sleep. It was something James had not thought he would need as he rode here; he had nearly fallen asleep several times on the hard bench during the journey. Crowch, his driver, had actually nudged him a time or two to wake him before he could tumble right off.
    But that had been before he had carried Margaret Wentworth to the blue room and dropped her on the bed. That was before he had seen her in the candlelight, on her knees, her golden hair tumbled about her heart-shaped face, her soft green eyes glinting out from behind that damned red mask that lent such a seductive air of mystery to her and seemed to emphasize how sweet and soft were her lips. All that had been enough to give a man ideas. It had put images in his head: images of Margaret kneeling at his feet, her cape open to reveal all that blasted gown she wore revealed…her hands untied, reaching for the waist of his trousers, her glossy lips twisting as she pulled those trousers slowly down and…
    Dear God! What was the matter with him? James gave his head a shake, relieved when the erotic imaginings dissolved. He could hardly believe he had been standingthere fantasizing such things about a woman he was supposed to be helping. Hell, he could hardly believe he had been fantasizing at all. He just wasn’t the sort to waste time on carnal pursuits. He prided himself on being a more intellectual sort. Oh, he had kept a mistress or two through the years, but it had always been more as a physical outlet—a sort of exercise, if you will—rather than from any real passion. In fact, James had always regarded the task as not dissimilar to boxing: Good for keeping the heart fit and the body in shape and a skill every man should have. And as with boxing, he had always considered the movements rather mechanical. In boxing it was jab, feint, uppercut as opposed to kiss, strip, fondle, and so on. Both were a step-by-step process leading to the final round and the ringing of the bell…so to speak.
    Gerald and Robert had once claimed he was a bloodless sod when he’d revealed that philosophy. They had discussed many things while seated around the fire at night, and the subject of mistresses had invariably come up. Neither of his friends had understood, but James simply was not hampered by the carnal nature most men seemed led by. Or so he had thought. Yet here he was, lusting after the woman presently installed in a room upstairs, his mental processes as muddled as those of any brainless dog after a bitch in heat.
    â€œParliament canceled?”
    James gave up berating himself as the last two words of Webster’s question broke through his thoughts. Frowning, he glanced at his servant. “What was that?”
    â€œI said you have quite taken us by surprise with this visit, milord. I did not expect you until the day afternext at the least, after Parliament met. Was the meeting canceled?”
    James stared blankly at the man for a moment, his brain slow to digest what he was saying, and slower still to accept that he had been so stupid. “Damn,” he breathed at last, hardly able to believe that he had forgotten. He had long been a member of the House of Lords, and had made a concerted effort to attend each meeting. He had missed one or two, of course—illness, emergencies, life itself sometimes intervened—but just now there was a matter of some importance on the table and he really had wanted to be there. How could he have forgotten? Dear Lord, he had made a muff up this time.
    Cursing, he set his untouched glass of warm milk and whiskey down with a clink and rose from his seat. “Tell Crowch to harness fresh horses to the carriage. We must head back at once. Then come to my room. I have to change, and I will give you instructions regarding Lady Wentworth while I do. Damn!” he added again.
    â€œLady