Valor Under Siege (The Honorables) by Elizabeth Boyce Read Free Book Online Page B

Slamming the door behind her, she leaned her back against it and cried.
    The night did not improve. Foster helped her bathe and change into her nightclothes before removing to her own cot in the little dressing room, but sleep was out of the question for Elsa. She’d slept all afternoon and thought she might crawl out of her skin, besides. She paced the length of the small chamber, back and forth, back and forth, desperate to reclaim the relief she’d found earlier while walking with Norman.
    Elsa twisted her fingers tight and tighter, trying to wring from them the need to touch a bottle. Then her hands were in her hair at her temples, clenching, pulling, and seeking to distract herself with pain.
    Distraction. Distraction. What was it Mr. Dewhurst had said? Something about keeping herself busy, distracting herself with her favorite activities. She barked a bitter laugh. Her favorite activities were drinking and fucking. One was forbidden, and as for the other—
    She halted in her pacing. As for the other ... Norman found her physically appealing. A woman intuited these things, but she’d seen the evidence for herself when he’d watched her dance on the tabletop at the Christmas revels, seen desire writ plain across his face. As for her, she found him intriguing. Compelling. He was so tall. Enormous, really. It would be pointless to deny her lusty mind had pondered his manly asset, wondered if its size was commensurate to the rest of him.
    Her lower belly quivered, and her nipples perked against her thin night rail. “Oh, God,” she moaned, lifting her hands to her cheeks. This was hellish. Norman Wynford-Scott? Was she really going to do this? Then again, if she did not, how would she live through the endless hours stretching from here to dawn? If something did not give, Elsa would find herself downstairs gulping the first potent drink she could get her hands on; of this, she was certain.
    But, Norman was ... well, he was kind and considerate and noble of spirit and ... a bit boring, really. So upright and proper all the time. Except when he made her laugh with his story about a brewery with a stable full of horses with naughty names, of course. And when his voice rang with command, there was something rather thrilling about it. All the same, he didn’t seem the sort to countenance a tumble in a roadside inn with a notoriously immoral woman.
    Elsa swallowed. Drew a deep breath. Now that the idea of sex was in her head, her body thrummed in anticipation. She would take care of her own needs, was all, as she’d done many and many a night. Decision made, she crossed to the bed. Her knee sank into the mattress.
    A soft knock. “Elsa? Lady Fay?”
    Her lids slid home on a soft groan. It was as inevitable as that first snifter of brandy turning into a second.
    She jerked open the door, and there he was in only dark breeches and a rumpled white shirt. How broad his shoulders were, she marveled, and how wide his chest. She could spend hours exploring it, give her mouth an occupation beyond demanding liquor. Her heart hammered.
    Norman’s gaze slipped down her length, then pulled back to her face. She’d neglected to put on a wrapper before opening the door, she realized.
    “I just wanted to look in on you,” he said in a low voice. “You left supper so abruptly, and—forgive me, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop—but I’m just in the next room, and I heard you pacing and crying even, I thought. Is there ... may I be of assistance?”
    Without allowing herself time to think, she grabbed his hand and tugged him to his room. When they were inside, she shut the door, and tipped her forehead against the beveled panel. “I’m suffering. I didn’t know it would be this hard.”
    Behind her, he sighed. “What can I do to help, Elsa?”
    “I need ...” Turning, she let her eyes travel meaningfully over his body, from tip to toe. He had a hand buried in the muss of his brown hair, cupping the back of his skull. He was