This Earl Is on Fire by Vivienne Lorret Read Free Book Online Page A

cringed. That sounded far too similar to a quote from his harridan housekeeper, Mrs. Brasher.
    â€œYou are a veritable toller of death, Wolford,” she huffed, “using your bell and rope in an attempt to mute my enthusiasm. I will not have it. Now I shall think twice before mentioning any more from my list of adventures to you.”
    He didn’t like the sound of that. “You have a list ?”
    â€œFor a man of questionable reputation, you know nothing of adventure,” she grumbled.
    He opened his mouth, intending to tell her about the people who’d lost their lives on Rotten Row, but before he could, he felt her finger against his lips. The shock of it rushed through him, disassembling every word he’d been about to say, turning them all into formless syllables without meaning.
    â€œNo more dire warnings from you. I am going to attempt to feed you porridge. I do not know how well this will turn out, considering the water debacle and the fact that your whiskers are rather . . .” She drew in a breath and lifted her finger simultaneously as if she only now realized what she’d done. “. . . rather thick.”
    Her voice dropped lower. Instantly, his attention and hunger dropped lower too.
    â€œI’m not certain I like porridge,” he said, clenching his jaw and trying to draw his focus northward.
    She paid no heed to his concern and instead brought a spoon to his lips. That sweet, creamy aroma filled his nostrils. Against his misgivings, saliva pooled in his mouth.
    Then, obeying her wordless command, he opened. And then closed. A contented breath escaped his nostrils as his tongue pushed the warm, silky porridge against his palate. Such humble, simple fare and yet sumptuous. He swallowed, already eager for another taste.
    â€œI think you do like it,” she said, her voice still low and now breathy.
    It had an uncontrollably arousing effect on him. And considering their topic and current activity, it was peculiar to say the least. “More.”
    He couldn’t help it. More was the only word that came to mind.
    Each spoonful she gave him had the same effect. It was as if he’d never eaten in his life. The contrary was true—he had a healthy appetite. In all things.
    Usually, however, his fare was of a rich, succulent, decadent variety. He broke his fast with a stack of meats, topped off with poached eggs and a heavy sauce. But nothing had ever satisfied him like this.
    After another mouthful, he noticed that the spoon trembled against his bottom lip. Immediately, he lifted his hand to her wrist to stay her. His fingers inadvertently curled around the delicate bones. “Are you overtired?”
    Her pulse quickened beneath his touch. The tiny thing rose up to beat against his fingertips like an excited puppy eager for affection. Unable to help himself, he stroked the pad of his middle finger in a circle over that spot.
    â€œNo. I—” she began, then slowly pulled free of his grasp. “The bowl is nearly empty. I had not thought you would be so . . . so . . .”
    â€œRavenous?” Neither had he. And for porridge, no less. Though perhaps it wasn’t only the food that had incited his hunger.
    â€œYes.” She breathed the word, making no other sound save for the clink of the spoon resting inside the bowl.
    Strangely, his fingertips itched, causing the compulsion to locate her wrist once more. Feel her pulse react. Listen to her voice. Taste her breath . . .
    Dangerous thoughts, all of them.
    Neither of them moved, nor broke the silence that followed. Then, after a moment, he heard the rustle of fabric and felt the air stir, telling him that she’d left her place at his side. The rattle of dishes across the room confirmed it.
    â€œMy mother and I have planned an outing. I should find her and tell her that I’m ready.”
    Before he could comment, he heard her shuffled step scurry out of the room.

C HAPTER T HREE
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