Free To Wed a Wicked Earl by Olivia Parker

hesitation, she took one small step in his direction.
    For reasons unknown to him, the action made him want to grind his teeth. How many times did he have to tell her that he wasn’t a man to be trifled with? That he hadn’t a good side, no matter how adamantly she insisted that he had. Did she think him harmless because she had once seen him acting like a drunken fool?
    Didn’t she know how depraved he was? Hadn’t she heard all the awful things he had done? Why had she come to his aid in the garden, when any other woman would have turned the other way, pretending she didn’t see a bloody thing? And why  was  she still here? Hell, she might not know what was good for her, but Rothbury knew  he  certainly wasn’t.
    He would have never guessed that she’d do something so unwise as to visit him in the middle of the night. Friend or not. What could be so important that she needed to speak to him so urgently? Hadn’t she a care for her safety? Didn’t she realize the temptation she presented to him? Seeing her in the park, at Vauxhall, or sitting back-to-back at adjacent tables in a coffee shop in order to disguise that they were really there together was one thing. Having her in his room was an entirely different matter all together.
    Standing, he clutched the sheet to his torso with one fist, his intent to finally show Charlotte how foolish it was to underestimate his self-control. Hell, to underestimate her effect on him. After all, he was only a man. And she was a lovely woman, albeit sorely lacking in basic judgment skills.
    Heedless of his state of undress, mindless to the heat and tension thrumming through him, he stalked toward her, advancing so that she had no choice but to back up…or be overtaken by him.
    Chapter 5
    A Gentleman’s clothes are exquisite in cut and fit, but inconspicuous in material.
    P asting an innocent smile on her face, Charlotte tried desperately to appear cool and in control. Outwardly. Inwardly, she was ready to bolt.
    She simply had no middle ground. She was either so incredibly shy that she couldn’t manage a single sound to seep past her lips, or she did something so outlandish and hasty that she feared she was indeed ready to be locked up.
    “Rothbury?”
    She desperately tried to keep herself from glancing down at his bare chest. Embarrassment flooded heat through her cheeks. She thought he knew she was coming. And she hadn’t meant to sneak into his bedchamber. According to the map, she should have been entering his study. Nelly must have reversed the directions.
    However, she refused to back down. The old Charlotte would have taken one look at his lordship and scurried for the nearest exit.
    Excitement and desperation had moved her, guided her behavior, she supposed. And if she was anything this night, it was desperate.
    Rothbury’s amber-flecked eyes glinted in the moonlight. Not for the first time that evening Charlotte thanked the Lord that the shadows hid her flushed cheeks. Whether he did it on purpose or not, his gaze perpetually held an air of both challenge and seduction, which resulted in some rather rampant babbling on her part. Not to mention his “look,” as she liked to call it, which never failed to make her bones feel like butter left out in the sun.
    Presently, however, suspicion swept across his lovely features. “State your business, Charlotte. And quickly too.” He took another step toward her.
    She slid a foot back and stepped on her ripped hem, which pulled the back of her dress tight.
    “I have come tonight to ask for your assistance.” His nearness was setting fire to her skin. The absurd thought that her spectacles were about to cloud over crossed her mind. There would be no denying his effect on her person then. “Whatever are you about, Rothbury? And must you stand so close?”
    “What’s the matter, Charlotte?” he asked, his tone mocking. “Are you suddenly having second thoughts on your decision to come here