Free The Earl is Mine by Kieran Kramer Page A

a Greek goddess and exceedingly tempting, exactly the way she was. In fact, her modest gowns drove him mad with wanting to see more, to feel more, as he’d done once before—but only barely before the kiss had abruptly ended. “You’re uncomfortable, surely.”
    “I am.” She blew out a sigh and began the process of rendering her upper half naked.
    The sound of the cloth unwrapping was subtle but audible, and Gregory felt an overwhelming urge to sneak a peek. Just one little glance over the edge. If she were looking down, she wouldn’t even notice, would she?
    But of course, he wouldn’t succumb to temptation. You’re a gentleman, his conscience chided him.
    He hated his bloody conscience.
    A few tortured seconds later, Pippa held a straggly bundle of cloth stripping over the blanket.
    “Drop it,” he said.
    It landed on his boot with a squishy sound.
    “I need a new dry shirt.” Panic laced her words. “And coat. Please hurry.”
    Oh, how a man’s mind could turn to mush in the presence of a near naked woman! But she was a naked, cold woman, and he had an obligation to help her. “You’ll need to hold this side of the blanket then.” He jiggled the left corner.
    When she took it, he reached behind him and passed the dry shirt to her free hand over the barrier. They switched ownership of the blanket corner, and seconds later, she’d donned the new shirt.
    The same maneuver took place with the coat. It was a bloody circus act they had going. He was the lion—she was the vulnerable maiden.
    “Better?” he asked after a moment of hearing her struggle—the blanket was rippling with her efforts.
    “Better.” Finally, she pushed the woolen barrier down.
    Anxiety hovered about her eyes and mouth, but in her dry jacket and shirt, she already looked vastly improved: alert, robust, even alluring—as if she’d taken a cold shower under a waterfall and had been rubbed down with a towel and put before a fire. It was entirely charming of her to appear so well, considering she was in a damp carriage and still wearing drenched pantaloons.
    “It feels good to have the top half of me warm again,” she said, but her teeth knocked against her words, like tiny hammers.
    He hid his concern with a steady gaze. “Let’s get the bottom half the same way. I’m going to remove your boots.”
    “I can do it myself.”
    “Allow me,” he said. “While I remove them, why don’t you wrap up in the blanket?”
    “All right,” she said, sounding a bit nervous.
    He lifted one slender calf—he refused to think of it as sweet—and the boot came off with a tremendous sucking sound, followed by a long trickle of water.
    “It’s like the Flood in here,” she muttered.
    When their eyes met, he was glad to see a small twinkle in hers. It sent warmth rushing to the vicinity of his heart—a very unwelcome rush.
    “The other,” he reminded her as if she were a wayward soldier, and her expression dimmed.
    Good. They didn’t need to be friendly. Not when he was in possession of her leg. If he followed its trail, it would lead him to a forbidden place he had no business thinking of at all. In fact, he was so thoroughly disgusted with himself, when he lifted her calf, he was a little too quick and her toes snagged the underside of his thigh.
    “Sorry,” she whispered.
    He sent her a silent glance replete with disapproval and tried to be satisfied that no water came out of the second boot.
    “I’ll do the rest,” she offered.
    “Let me get your stockings,” he said. “Sit back”— far , far back —“and stay warm.”
    She didn’t question him this time, and her cheeks flushed when he began the task of peeling her sopping wet hose off. He had to work very hard not to attribute any suggestion of intimacy to the action. Her ankle was splendid, her flesh a healthy pale pink, but her feet when they appeared were faintly blue.
    He rubbed them hard with his hands, and she giggled outright.
    He paused. “Ticklish?”
    She