The Last Gamble. Anabelle Bryant

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Luke managed to catch Miss Smith with little effort, his stride eating up the pavement and falling into pace beside her before he lost breath. ‘Please allow me to explain.’

      ‘There’s no need.’ She didn’t look at him. Gone was the congenial kindness and soft-spoken sincerity witnessed at the teahouse. Miss Smith appeared as scared as a hunted rabbit, dashing glances to the roadway and beyond to the horizon, her blue eyes alight with a wild gleam. From what did she run? Her hurried escape provided all the evidence needed to realize she feared something, some scandal or danger. Frightened to a degree that she would change her name and avoid a city of thousands.

      He continued his pursuit though the puzzling reaction wouldn’t release his curiosity. He hardly knew the woman, yet some part of him worried for her predicament. She’d cared for Nate and shown kindness to his son. From what she’d mentioned, Nate enjoyed the time spent in her charge. At the least he owed her a little latitude in her unexpected reaction.

      She scurried up the slates in front of her cottage, her hand at work inside her reticule for the key. He couldn’t allow her to enter without hearing him out. He needed to change her mind. He had to. It was his only hope. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed hard, forcing it away. ‘Miss Smith, if you’ll listen a moment about London.’

      Two paces from the front door she whirled in his direction, an immediate objection on her lips, but the motion, combined with her harried steps, caused the key to fall straight into the flowerbed beside the path. He leapt to recover it first, only meaning to hold it hostage long enough to gain her attention, but the lady bent twice as quickly and snatched the key along with a wayward flower stem. She inserted the key into the lock before he could stop her, because, aside from words, what other means did he have? He wouldn’t lay a hand on her person and dare frightening her further.

      ‘Miss Smith.’ He watched in dejected frustration as the door opened. ‘Georgina, please!’

      ‘No. I said no.’ She fairly shouted her refusal and pushed the door open, but in a blur of beige Biscuit shot across the threshold, the pug’s pernicious snarls startling Miss Smith as much as he. Who would expect such vigilant protection from the pint-sized pup?

      ‘Oh.’ She gasped. With less than a heartbeat’s length to react, she missed the opportunity to capture her pet and Biscuit bulleted forward at her valiant defence. Rocketing past her skirts, the dog emitted a ferocious growl and latched onto Reese’s trousers.

      The scene might have appeared comical if so much weren’t at stake. Miss Smith struggled to free Biscuit from his offensive attack, her skirts an encumbrance as she crouched to reclaim the dog, but too soon she lost footing, her boot heel caught on the uneven edge of a broken slate. Already in an awkward position, she pitched towards the daisies, losing hold of the dog in the process. Luke shot out a hand to steady her, latching on to her arm to prevent the fall, but it proved no use. Caught in the vertiginous melee, Miss Smith teetered wildly, grasping his extended arm with her ungloved hands to hold tight.

      With lightning reactions, Luke shook off Biscuit and twisted his body to absorb the impact as they fell to the ground into the flowerbed like two newly planted bulbs, him on his back and Miss Smith, Georgina, warm, wonderful Georgina, sprawled atop his chest.

      Her exclamation of surprise mingled with his groan upon impact. Biscuit merely continued his incessant barking.

      Clubs, spades, diamonds and hearts.

      Georgina’s luscious curves blanketed his increasing hardness in a landing so pleasurable he might have found heaven. Her enticing breasts, lush and wonderful, pressed against his chest in curvy warmth and delicious invitation. The sensual conclusion, that she eschewed a corset, lit a hot flame of lust he could not deny. He knew firsthand every intimate item in a woman’s wardrobe and never had heat permeated through his shirt like in this moment, the lovely Miss Smith intimately atop him. Perhaps the proper governess was not so proper after all.

      Their legs tangled in fabric and daisies, urging him to pay attention to sensation. How long had he gone without a woman? Life had taken a different path but he never denied himself company. His blood stirred. He hadn’t experienced any emotion beyond loss in so long he almost didn’t recognize it, but there it was, desire. With that identification, the sudden suggestion of a kiss rose to the forefront, demanding attention no matter how inappropriate. He eased his head from the flowers, daring a better view.

      She still hadn’t raised her eyes and, as he glanced at the top of her head, her lopsided bun escaped its pins and a kaleidoscope of tresses begged for his fingers. He again caught the fragrance of apricots despite flowers surrounded him. The startling realization, that he would happily stay there indefinitely, awakened all sorts of marvellous ambiences and naughty thoughts. She sighed then, her generous bosom cosseted closer as if to nudge his attention and say who cares about hair, don’t forget about me. His hands curled around her shoulders, anxious to skim down her back or, more so, take down her dishevelled bun, unravel the lengths and wrap the silky strands tight in his fists. Need and want tore him down the middle. Hell, what was he thinking?

      The blasted dog continued his harangue and, with a little oomph, Miss Smith attempted to rise and correct the embarrassing situation. She lifted her head and matched his gaze directly. Her eyes, brilliant blue, searched his face as a soft breeze caught a wayward strand of hair and raised it in a dance to float between them like so many intimate suggestions. He inhaled sharply and cleared his throat, hoping to vanquish the fast and furious sinful images fighting for attention inside his brain.

      Mortification. Mor-ti-fi-ca-tion. Georgina was horrified. Inhaling a deep breath, she angled her head to find Mr Reese, Luke, staring at her with a question in his eyes.

      ‘Oh dear.’ Her voice sounded breathy. Perhaps she’d knocked the wind from her lungs. She attempted to wriggle free of his hold, for his arm encircled her back, lashing them together in an embrace both protective and warm. She heard him groan with her movement. Was she too heavy? The hard, masculine body beneath her suggested he could support her cottage without effort. Perhaps he’d become injured in the fall. She doubted it. His rugged virility insisted his hurts were inside, unsusceptible to common injury.

      She watched as his eyes moved over her face and settled on her mouth where his attention hovered for what seemed like forever. What to say? She poked her tongue out to wet her lips. ‘I should get up.’

      He released a low, impatient growl that reminded her of Biscuit. The short-muzzled pug seemingly sensed the same as he continued a harsh diatribe in objection to their position. Botheration, how long had she laid atop Mr Reese? She would need a minute to reason that answer out. Sadly, Biscuit proved not nearly as patient and, before Georgina could gather her wits and regain her footing, the pug barked one last protestation and sank his sharp white teeth into Mr Reese’s forearm.

      ‘Bloody mongrel.’

      ‘Oh dear.’ Georgina scooted off Mr Reese as he raised his arm with alarming speed. She stood and, after a hard shake of her skirts to regain mobility, nabbed Biscuit, deposited him in the gated yard and returned to the front of the cottage to find Mr Reese with his palm pressed over his left forearm, his expression thunderous.

      ‘Come inside at once.’ She pushed the door open and moved to the side, anxious to get to the kitchen where she could collect water and bandages, everything needed to clean and dress his wound. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve never seen Biscuit behave so aggressively. I don’t understand. He’s such a friendly little dog.’

      ‘His mouth’s not so little.’

      After that mutter, Mr Reese followed quietly, though his СКАЧАТЬ