Too Sinful to Deny by Erica Ridley Read Free Book Online Page B

his arms, to relax in his strength and heat. He wasn’t a ghost. He was real. Solid. A familiar face. That the face had belonged to a man capable of ruining her reputation just by being in the same room with her hadn’t crossed her mind at that moment. Nothing had crossed her mind . . . but him. Warmth. Gratitude. Safety.
    He reached into his vest pocket and laid a pistol atop the sideboard. Had she said safety? This was no doubt the very pistol with which he’d almost shot her host hours earlier! Susan had conveniently forgotten that little incident while she’d been busy being rescued.
    He poured a glass of brandy. The golden liquid sparkled in a shaft of sunlight sneaking through the curtains. He sniffed the glass absently, swirled it, then held it in her direction.
    She shook her head. She should go. Brandy was almost as boring as ratafia, and she had plenty of other concerns to attend to. Like removing herself from his company. And quitting Bournemouth altogether.
    “Certain?” He sipped, closing his eyes in pleasure. “Delicious. It’s French, you know. Quite expensive these days.”
    Quite illegal, if that were the case. Susan wavered. Illicit brandy wasn’t boring. As tempted as she was to sample a bit, accepting drinks meant one ought to stay and drink them. And she was leaving. Now.
    Brandy at his lips, he crossed the drawing room and retook his chair, looking for all the world relaxed and content. Despite the sand still dusting his muscled limbs.
    The abandoned pistol was now closer to her than it was to him. That provided some measure of comfort, did it not? To be fair, she had no experience firing weapons of any kind. But at the very least, should he decide to go on a murderous rampage in his drawing room, traversing the length to fetch his pistol would give her advance notice as to his intention.
    His clear gaze heated her face once more. “Not a drinker?”
    “Not staying, ” she countered primly. She sneaked a reassuring glance at the sideboard. The pistol was still there. As was the brandy.
    “You didn’t drink at the Shark’s Tooth,” he reminded her. “And you stayed there for a while.”
    “That was different. I was . . . having an unpleasant day.” She choked on the understatement. She was being haunted. Good God. How was she supposed to ensnare a rich, titled gentleman whilst being haunted?
    “Must be something in the water.” He took another sip of brandy, but this time his eyes did not close in pleasure. He looked . . . anguished. But then he blinked, and the moment was gone. “I suppose you wish to talk about it?”
    She snorted. (A habit she was truly endeavoring to break.) Talk about her inexplicable ability to see spirits? Never. Not to him. Not to anyone. The ghosts themselves were bad enough. Having others suspect such madness would ruin her life. She’d end up the subject of gossip instead of the one spreading it, and never make the kind of match she needed. “Absolutely not.”
    His eyebrows lifted. She’d surprised him, then, by not wishing to chat about her troubles. “Fair enough.” He shrugged and returned his attention to his glass of brandy. “I’d have been feigning attention anyway.”
    Her mouth fell open. He was so rude. “Because I’m a woman?”
    “Because whatever it is, I don’t want to get involved.”
    Well, she scarce wished to be involved with him either. “Understandable. Well, I’m afraid I must be off. I do appreciate your many kindnesses this morning, Mr. . . .”
    Incredible. Twice in his arms and she didn’t even know his name.
    “Bothwick,” he supplied helpfully. “Marquess of Gower, Earl of Huntington, Viscount Rockham.”
    “ What? ” There was no such—
    “Just bamming you.” His grin was infectious. “Evan Bothwick.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Plain old ‘mister.’”
    Right. Susan shook his hand without a word.
    Now that he had a name and a personality—and no pistol—he was a little less