Society's Most Scandalous Viscount. Anabelle Bryant

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      Indeed, she required composure gathering, but the concept was near impossible to fathom. Now that they had light, she noticed every firm muscle outlined through his sodden linen shirt. Her gaze drifted upward over his biceps and broad shoulders to his collar where droplets of rain flicked from the lengths of his long hair to the floor with each movement. He possessed startling handsomeness, his hard-etched features profiled in the glow of firelight, the growth of new whiskers evident on his chin, acting the hero and looking the part, yet one carved of stone. Perfect in almost every way, but not quite alive. The thought struck her as odd, but she had no time to consider it.

      “Dry off or you’ll catch a chill.”

      Another command and she, who usually had a witty retort or friendly reply on the tip of her tongue, accepted the towel and did as she was told, no matter the deep timbre of his voice sounded more brusque than concerned. When at last she’d accomplished the best result possible, he came to stand before her and she stared at the flesh exposed by the absence of a cravat, his collar plastered to his shirt, almost translucent, the pale linen several shades lighter than his skin, which was darkened to a medium brown from sunshine and negligence.

      He stood close. Too close. The hairs on the back of her neck rose in objection, warning that were she to tilt her eyes upward she would be as near to a man, as near to a kiss, as she’d ever been. Her breathing went shallow as if she feared a deep inhalation would overtake the gap between them and somehow close the scant distance separating their bodies.

      Still, she didn’t even know his name. This pirate who’d somehow inserted himself into her plan for carefree adventure and tempted too many things to consider. She should return to the beach and find her way home. If only the weather would ease a bit.

      She didn’t raise her chin. She couldn’t look at him. To look would be dangerous. How easy to get lost in his eyes. What color were they anyway?

      She wouldn’t succumb to the charming tenor of his voice and fall prey to the seduction of his words. He swallowed and she watched the movement of his throat, felt the warmth of his breath against her temple. She thought he might speak, but the moment stretched, bristling with a shared energy, an unknown frisson of tension and potent untapped emotion that radiated between them with unexplainable heat.

      Her body reacted.

      She should feel chilled—damp layers of clothing clung, her hair dripped, her skin cooled—yet instead, warmth drenched her core. A tingling rise of sensation was alive within, ricocheting from point to point, swirling and settling low in her belly with a tremulous tension as if she’d drawn back a harp string and held it extended, taut and stretched tight, quivering, begging to be released but unable to do so, not knowing how. Was this prurient desire? Men of his ilk likely experienced it all the time.

      She had little knowledge of it.

      Not even one kiss worth.

      The realization spurred her to action. To look into his eyes might prove her downfall, but she raised her gaze to his.

      He matched her curiosity. His eyes a rich shade of mahogany, framed by long thick lashes. A flicker of amusement gleamed in their depths and her heart squeezed with panic. What was she doing? Had she lost all sense?

      “I need to leave.” She managed the words despite her constricted throat. “I shouldn’t be here with you.”

      A shadow of some unidentifiable emotion passed over his brow. “The cottage is empty and you can’t leave in this weather.” His reply sounded calm and even, unlike hers. “Aside from the downpour, the lightning is dangerous, and there’s no way you can find your way home in the darkness. I’m not about to venture outside until the rain lessens.”

      His words were reasonable, but her pulse hitched another notch. She had no rebuttal other than a silent wish that he didn’t stand so close or smell so intriguing. The rain brought out a subtle masculine scent, leather and shaving soap, that permeated her memory ensuring she’d never forget the detail. Her eyes skimmed over the whiskers at his chin, blunt and bristly. How would they feel against her fingertips? Her neck? The forbidden thought did little to settle her composure.

      “Perhaps I’ll stand near the fire.” The words escaped as a husky murmur.

      “You may move wherever you wish.” He stepped away to enable her to pass, despite his words issuing a challenge.

      As she did so, she was rewarded with a smile, a flash of white teeth, straight and even. She slanted him a sideways glance, aware of the gleam in his deep brown eyes. For him this seemed a game. A wave of foolishness swamped her, the necessary elixir to at last restore her heart to a normal rhythm. She busied herself with arranging her skirt before the flames, rubbing her hands together and making a show of gathering warmth. Had the downpour lessened? The rain on the roof seemed lighter, softer, unless it was her own heartbeat in her ears that hampered the sound.

      “Are you warm then?”

      His question sounded genuinely curious. Here was no ravisher of women, stalking the night hours in search of prey to capture. She almost laughed aloud at the ridiculous notion she’d conjured.

      “Would you like some tea?”

      He would make her tea? La, definitely not the action of a depraved seducer. Her pulse calmed considerably.

      “It would warm me, no doubt, but I can’t possible stay. I shouldn’t be here and the rain has reduced to a drizzle. I shan’t melt if I leave to find my way home.”

      “I can’t allow you to slip into the night unescorted. Who knows what mischief you may encounter next?” He paused and she didn’t miss the implication of his question. “Where do you live? I’ll return you once the weather abates.”

      He approached the fire to stand beside her and again she looked away. She had the niggling feeling that to look at him overlong would be to succumb altogether. He possessed a carnal attractiveness that was absent of the gentlemen in London—a virile, sensual quality that caused her to blush when she considered it. Good God, to experience his kiss.

      The wild notion took hold and anchored her resolve, securing her disinclination and transforming it to reticence. This was the adventure. This was the moment she craved. One kiss and then she’d dash out the door, a mystery, unable to be found. Forever changed.

      She turned to face him where he’d approached from behind. “That sounds a logical plan.” She clenched her still-damp skirts to calm her trembling hands. “How can I thank you?”

      “There is no need. A mermaid and a pirate are kin to the ocean.”

      He curled a sincere smile and she experienced the full force of his handsomeness. Pirate, prince, pauper…it didn’t matter. His gaze, as intoxicating as brandy, warmed her from the inside out.

      “Perhaps a small token.” He reached forward to raise a curl between them, caressing the lock of hair between his thumb and forefinger. “Something to remind me I haven’t drunk too much liquor and imagined this little nighttime escapade.”

      She almost laughed. How was it he read her thoughts, peered into her heart and realized her secrets? “Of course.”

      He bent to his left boot and removed a dagger that quickly caught the firelight on its blade. Her breath snagged, realizing late she’d been far too trusting and more than foolish. Perhaps her father was right СКАЧАТЬ