Free To Wed a Wicked Earl by Olivia Parker Page B

came a need for me to protect myself against your lecherous advances, I’d use this parasol,” she explained with a shrug, proud of the way her cool tone hid her anxiousness. “Besides, I am perfectly safe from you. I’m like a…a sister to you, I imagine.”
    “I don’t have a sister.” He leaned forward, resting his free hand on the wall behind her.
    “Oh, well, if you did,” she said nodding. She pushed against his chest with her free hand. He didn’t budge.
    “Let’s forget all that, shall we? Instead, I’d like to prove my point. Let’s pretend for a moment that I find you attractive. Let’s pretend that your very virtue is sorely threatened at this very moment.”
    “Unlikely,” she scoffed.
    His warm gaze dropped down to the hand that rested against his warm, bare skin. Then he looked up at her, his eyes showing an emotion she did not recognize. “I want you,” he said, then swallowed hard. “And every time you are near me, your scent, your voice, seeps into my soul.”
    “Oh my,” she muttered with a giggle. “You’re good at this. You almost sound as if you believe it yourself.”
    “I do.”
    Sighing, she supposed the only thing worse than being pursued by a sinfully attractive, manipulative rake, was having one for a friend. “Stop this, Rothbury. It’s not funny.”
    Feeling flushed, she looked down at her hand with a start, realizing she was still touching his chest. She retracted it quickly, then made a great show of studying the tip of her index finger, where a tiny dot of blood had beaded. A thorn had jabbed her earlier during her perilous climb. She hoped it would draw his attention and distract him.
    But it only made it worse. He covered her hand with his own in a movement that could only be called a caress.
    She swallowed. “Give me back my hand, you depraved hound.”
    “Mine.” Slowly, he drew her toward his mouth, lips parted slightly.
    Good Lord. Was he going to put her finger in his mouth? All her breath seemed to sink down to her knees, if such a ludicrous thing was possible. This had to stop. She thought to shove him away, only her muscles refused to respond.
    “Now, what would you do?” He leaned down, his lips parting, giving her a tiny glimpse of his tongue.
    Her heart tripped over itself. He was magnificent in the moonlight. But she wasn’t going to stand for any of this teasing either. She brought out the parasol and pointed it at his chest. “Step back.”
    He merely raised a brow, his gaze flicking from her finger to the parasol and back again.
    “I’m warning you.”
    Pushing his hand from the wall, he plucked the decorative umbrella from her slack hold and tossed it behind his back with ease. When it hit the carpet with a dull thud, he gave her a look that said, “So now what are you going to do?”
    So much for her weapon.
    “You can stop this now.” She twisted her lips. “I see your point. However, I do have a very good reason for being here. And I am certainly not looking for your brand of mischief.”
    His eyes instantly cooled. Curtain closed, scene over. Thank goodness she was smart enough and strong enough not to fall for his rakish scheming. There was never any sincerity in his words. To him, playing the part of a rake was all an act, like a lever he turned on and off at will.
    After watching her for a moment, he stepped away from her, disappearing into the dark room.
    The air suddenly felt cold. She shivered, goose pimples spreading across her skin.
    “What are you looking for, then?” he asked, his voice fading as he walked away.
    A door opened in the distance, followed soon after by the sound of fabric swishing over smooth, bare flesh. She supposed he was getting dressed.
    “Perhaps if you bothered to read my letters, you would know the answer to that question.” She cleared her throat, eager to get to the point. “To begin, I’ve come to ask you why you failed to inform me that Harriet cried off. Tristan is free.”
    She nearly