Free My Lady Below Stairs by Mia Marlowe Page B

up against the wall with your gown bunched around your waist. His mouth went dry. Damn, he was as randy a he-goat as that blasted Lord Eddleton. But un like the viscount, Ian loved this lady. Surely that counted for something.
    “I...” He tugged at his cravat and hopelessly fouled the knot. “I want to be rid of this bloody bit of rubbish about my neck.”
    Tugging off her long white gloves, she floated toward him. Her kid-soled slippers skimmed across the floor as if she possessed invisible wings.
    “Let me see about it, then.” She dropped the gloves and her fingers grazed his neck in teasing touches. “Oh, you've tugged the wrong end of the waterfall. There.”
    She held both ends of the neck cloth and pulled his head down so there was hardly a hand's span between them. Her breath was moist and sweet. The remembered taste of her mouth made his cock twitch.
    “Next time,” she said in a husky whisper, “steal a cravat with less starch.”
    Then she yanked the cravat off his neck, the stiff cloth raking his flesh.
    “Ow!” He clapped a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed vigorously.
    “Less starch would smart less, I expect,” she said with a poisonous smile.
    “You did that of a purpose.”
    “Of course.”
    “I thought ye agreed to—”
    “Help you out of those clothes? So I did.” She poked out her bottom lip in a wickedly seductive pout. “You wanted to be rid of your cravat and I've rid you of it.”
    “But that's not—”
    “Not what you asked for? Or not what you expected?” She poked his chest with her forefinger. “Ian Michael, this is no game. Do you not understand what will happen to you if you're caught in his lordship's clothes?”
    “Aye, but—”
    “But nothing.” She reached up and started to push the gray wool jacket off his shoulders. He turned a slow cir cle and slid out of it before he knew what was happening. “We don't have time to waste. I'm only here to make sure you get back into that footman's livery, you stupid, big Scot.”
    He decided silence was his best defense.
    She dipped to retrieve her gloves and spread them and the jacket neatly across the foot of his lordship's tall bed. He followed close behind so that when she turned around there was only a hand's span between them.
    “And don't think you'll be sidetracking me with kisses,” she went on, as her fingers flew down the row of silver buttons marching down his waistcoat.
    The sweet lilac smell of her hair made his mouth water, but he wisely kept it shut. She folded the waistcoat and laid it beside the jacket before turning back to him.
    “Do you really think Lord Hartwell won't notice that someone else has been wearing his shirt?” Her hands slowed as she undid the buttons on the fine white lawn, exposing more and more of his chest as the fabric parted.
    He balled his fingers into fists to keep from reaching out to her.
    “Turn around.” Her voice trembled a bit, enough to let him know she was losing steam.
    He forced himself not to smile until he'd presented his back to her. She tugged the shirttail out of his trousers and peeled it slowly off him, baring his back. Her breath hitched.
    “You're not wearing any small clothes at all,” she said softly.
    Ian shrugged. “Charlie's livery is a snug fit. It's easier to fasten up wearing nothing but me skin beneath. Then once here, I figured it was bad enough to help myself to Lord Hartwell's wardrobe. I didn't think I should press his hospitality so far as borrowing his drawers.”
    A giggle slipped from Jane's lips.
    So lightly he almost thought he was imagining it, she ran her fingertips along the tops of his shoulders and then down the sensitive indentation of his spine. It took every ounce of will he possessed to remain still.
    “You shouldn't have come.” Her breathless tone belied her words. “Honestly, Ian, what were you thinking?”
    He turned to face her. “I was thinking I couldn't bear for ye to belong to someone else.”
    Something