Touch of a Lady by Mia Marlowe Read Free Book Online Page B

against his body. She laid her head on his shoulder and he stroked her hair, its softness a stark contrast to the hard future he foresaw for them.
    “Now I have a prediction or two of my own. First, you are going to become my viscountess.”
    “Very well,” she said, “since you asked so prettily.”
    “I’m sorry. I’m not good with words.”
    “Maybe not, but you’re wickedly good with something else.” Her hand fluttered over his chest, past his navel and gave his cock a leisurely stroke. He roused to her, but bridled himself because there was still more he had to tell her.
    He pressed a kiss to her crown to soften what he was about to say. “No one will understand if we simply announce our intention to wed.”
    “You mean your family will fight it.”
    “Exactly.” He was grateful she didn’t make him innumerate why the earl would consider it a misalliance for them to wed. “I’ve no doubt I’d win that battle, but I’d rather not start married life with the cloud of family strife hanging over us. So, we’re going to have to do something that will make our match inevitable.”
    “We’re going to have to be caught in flagrante delicto ,” she said. “That way, Society will demand we wed.”
    “How very quick you are.”
    She walked her fingers up his chest. “Sounds like we’ll have to be quick in other ways, too. Where shall we plan for this disaster to overtake us?”
    “How about the duke’s library? There’s a sturdy desk that will do nicely.”
    “A desk? Where’s your sense of romance?”
    “All right,” he said, a little disappointed. He was looking forward to propping Del up on the polished mahogany and spreading her legs. She’d be delectable with her stockings sagging to her ankles. Once they married, he’d convince her that a desk could be wildly romantic. “You name the place then.”
    She was silent for a moment. “I know. There’s a lovely little parlor on the second floor with a nice tufted settee. If we’re going to be caught in the act, we may as well be comfortable.”
    “I don’t know.” He trailed a hand down the length of her spine and stayed to trace lazy circles at the small of her back. “It seems pretty out of the way. How can we be sure someone will catch us?”
    “I could ask my friend Harmony to meet me there—oh! Better yet, I’ll ask her to bring Lady Bettendorf with her. There’s no bigger gossip in all England.”
    “That’ll do.” He nodded. “Now for the time.”
    “The ball to end the house party is tomorrow night. Let’s slip away from the rest of the party at a quarter to twelve. I’ll tell Harmony to collect Lady Bettendorf and join me in the parlor at the stroke of midnight.”
    Tristan tipped her face up so he could kiss her deeply. “You, my dear lady, are a devious woman.”
    “Oh, my dear viscount,” she said as she climbed atop him. “You’ve no idea.”
     

Chapter 7
     
    Sir Rupert Digby shifted his weight, silently cursing the unyielding granite that jabbed him in the left buttock. When he liberated the last bottle of the duke’s rare ’08 vintage from the wine cellar earlier in the evening and stole off to the grotto to polish off the drink, he’d never expected to be interrupted by a pair of randy lovers.
    It meant he had to keep still till they were done unless he wanted to be caught with the incriminating bottle.
    The ’08 was terribly dear. No one Rupert knew had ever had a taste of it, though His Grace had prattled on about the vintage for years to anyone who’d listen, which since he was a duke, meant anyone whose ear he wished to bend about it. The exceptional wine reputedly embodied all that was best of the French vintner’s art—full-bodied, yet “nimble,” it caressed the tongue with a range of flavors, finishing with a faint aftertaste of the English oak cask in which it had been aged. The duke’s father’s father had actually bought the original case and now there was only one bottle