To Sin With A Scoundrel by Cara Elliott Read Free Book Online

him the benefit of the doubt quickly evaporated. “
Ignore
is more likely the precise word.”
    “Ah, yes, you are an expert in languages, too.” The dratted man was far too fast with his hands. He once again had hold of
     the erotic book and began thumbing through the pages. “Tell me, do you enjoy the nuances of the Venetian dialect?”
    “What makes you think it’s written in Italian?”
    “Contessa Francesca di Musto is a close friend. I’ve learned enough of the language from her to recognize—”
    “I’m sorry I asked.” Ciara cut him off with a brusque snap and forced her attention back to the ancient handwriting.
    He waited several moments before asking, “Well, what do you think?”
    “A-about what?”
The audacity of the man!
Did he actually mean to provoke a discussion on the highly improper verses and pictures he was ogling? There was a perfectly
     reasonable explanation for the book’s presence in her workroom. She had been doing a bit of research for “The Immutable Laws
     of Male Logic” and had discovered that its text displayed a well-endowed sense of humor… to go along with its graphic illustrations.
    The earl’s brow arched. “The manuscript, of course. What else would I be referring to?”
    Ciara found herself blushing again.
    His cough sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but when he spoke it was in all seriousness. “Will you take on the task of
     translating the text for Sir Henry?”
    “I haven’t yet decided.” Reaching for her magnifying glass, she made a show of studying a small sketch in one of the margins.
    To her chagrin, he resumed his wandering about her work area. It was impossible to concentrate, hearing the scuff of his boots,
     the rustle of paper and rattle of glass. At the faint pop of a cork, she abandoned all pretext of examining the intricate
     brushstrokes and spun around.
    The earl was dabbing a bit of jade-colored oil on his wrist. “Essence of juniper,” he read from the label. “It’s rather nice—not
     at all like a whiff of cheap gin.”
    “Put that down!” Grabbing up a rag, Ciara rushed to his side. “It’s not meant to be used undiluted. It will burn right through
     your flesh. Here, let me have a look.” She peeled back his cuff and set to wiping off every trace of green.
    His hand had none of the softness expected of a fashionable fop but was strong and solid, the sinew and muscle well defined.
     A scar cut across his knuckles, and a dusting of dark hair ran along his forearm. Turning it over, she saw the palm was callused,
     as were the tips of his long fingers. Yet their touch was surprisingly gentle as they closed around her wrist.
    Up close, he radiated a rampant masculinity, and against her will, she found herself thinking of all the naughty things she
     had overheard in the park.
    “I haven’t finished,” she murmured, hoping he didn’t hear the odd little catch in her voice.
    “Neither have I.”
    Ciara had every intention of pushing him away, but some strange alchemy kept her frozen in place. He kissed her lightly, the
     brush of his lips feathering across her cheek. Suddenly she was no longer cold, but hot all over. Somewhere in her core a
     flame licked up. Her flesh began to burn as his palms slid up her arms.
    No. No. No.
This could not be happening.
    Dazed, she opened her mouth to protest, only to find it captured in a far more intimate embrace. His tongue traced over her
     lips, and his teeth nipped her flesh. Then he was inside her, tasting of salt, of smoke, and of some earthy spice she could
     not put a name to.
    Her attempt at speech came out as a wordless moan. It had been so long since she had been kissed. So long since she had been
     desired. So long since she had felt this alive.
    The earl deepened his teasing tempo of slow, swirling thrusts. Mindless of all else, she opened herself to his sinuous rhythm,
     tentatively at first, then with increasing abandon.
    Wicked, wicked.
    The tantalizing touch and taste of him