To the Last Man I Slept with and All the Jerks Just Like Him by Gwendolyn Zepeda Read Free Book Online Page B

worried. Lord Hawksington, Fifth Earl of Northingham, Viscount Crumswell, Baron of Lint, known by friends and enemies alike as “Mr. Naughty” (being that “The Devil’s Cub,” “The Rake,” “Lord Scandalous,” and “Beelzebub’s Buddy” were already in use that Season) was not looking at her face.
    Never had Hawksington seen such a dashing figure on a female. His eyes bore straight through the faded gray silk of her gown and beheld her slender girl-like form, which was pleasingly thin, like a willow tree in winter, yet also possessed of lush womanly curves. Taking this in quickly, Hawksington next noticed that, although her dress was dowdy, it was still that of a lady. He raised his quizzing glass and looked into the girl’s eyes, now shining blue from her flustered state.
    “I am Hawksington at your service. Are you in need of assistance?” he asked, giving a slight bow with his head.
    Chastity dropped a quick curtsy, nearly tripping over her own dainty feet as she stared into the cool, silver eyes regarding her from beneath dark and forbidding quizzically raised brows and above an indeed hawk-like aristocratic nose and a malevolently, disdainfully, sinfully, knowingly sensuous mouth.
    “I—uh—My lord—uh—am—um . . .”
    Her eyes turned hazel from her efforts to speak sensibly while he watched her like a hawk watches its petite prey.
    “I am looking for Madame DuPont’s.” There! Now, hopefully, he would tell her where to find Madame’s boutique and she could be left to her own thoughts—fantasies of marrying him and not having to work as a seamstress.
    Madame DuPont’s! Lord Hawksleigh raised his brow so high that his carefully arranged coif almost revealed his receding hairline. This young girl had managed to throw him off the scent. She was no Lady of Quality, but merely a country wench on her way to work in a brothel! Quickly his manner changed.
    “Well, my dear, it just so happens I was headed that way myself. Would you grant me the honor of letting me be your escort?”
    Chastity breathed a sigh of relief.
    “Yes, my lord. I should like it above all things.”
    She placed her hand demurely on his arm, only to find herself pulled disarmingly close. She flushed warmly as he led her down the street, altogether too entranced to make conversation. Before she knew it, he had stopped in front of a shady-looking townhouse. Chastity looked at him askance.
    “My lord?”
    Turning her around to face him, he took her tiny hand into his own large one, and with his other hand, tipped up her chin.
    “Here is the house of Madame DuPont. But before you enter, my dear, will you not tell me your name?”
    Dizzily gazing into his eyes, she said breathlessly, “Chastity . . . Miss Chastity Fairbody, my lord.”
    “What a lovely name for such a lovely creature. Perhaps I will call on you later this evening, once you are situated. I’d like to be the first man in London to sample your wares.”
    With an arrogant sneer that took away what little breath she had left in her sparse body, Lord Hawksinger leaned down and kissed her, plundering the soft ripe sweetness of her mouth with his tongue. Chastity had never been kissed before. She felt that she was falling into a long, dark abyss of torpid desires never before experienced and only partially recognized by something primal, deep within her very soul. Her senses whirled and her hands grasped at the stranger’s shoulders of their own volition, desperate to hang on to something lest she be lost forever in the sweet, fiery passion engulfing them both.
    Lord Hawkerton had kissed many women in his three-and-thirty years, but never had he experienced such strange, maddening sweetness as this. Something about this young country lass—something about her delicate frailty, the warmth of her skin, the smallness of her feet, and her obvious inexperience—made him really horny. But underlying that horniness was a need to protect her, the same way he’d like to