Free More Than a Mistress by Ann Lethbridge

Warmth infused her skin, not just where he touched her, but all over, as if he had the power to heat the blood in her veins from her head to her feet.
    ‘You are cold,’ he said. ‘You should have stayed in the sleigh.’
    Her teeth chattered and her body shook. ‘No, I shouldn’t.’
    He swept her up in his arms as if she were nothing but a half-bolt of cloth. ‘My dear Merry, allow me to help you back to the carriage.’
    ‘Put me down.’ But the words were half-hearted and mumbled against his coat. Somehow her arms had gone around his neck and he was walking. Beneath his hat, his dark hair curled against his temple. His ear was very nicely formed, she decided, not too large, nor did it stick out from his head. In profile against the bright blue sky, his nose was a little crooked. A very small imperfection, scarcely noticeable unless you looked closely. Somehow it made him seem less of a god and more human.
    Her heart tumbled over.
    Oh Lord, she really did like him. She loved the feel of being in his arms, of being held close to his chest, like something precious. She felt feminine. Cared for. Protected.
    He glanced down with a smile. ‘Ready?’
    Dash it, they were back at the sleigh already. He lifted her up on to the seat and walked around to the other side and climbed up. He arranged the rug over her knees and tucked it up under her chin. ‘Is there any warmth left in that brick?’
    ‘A little,’ she said. She had no idea, her toes were too cold.
    ‘But not enough, I am sure.’ He put his hand under her chin, turned her face towards him. ‘Tell me, Merry.’
    The strength of command in his voice shivered all the way down to her toes. The intensity in his dark brown gaze trapped her.
    ‘Who would want to do you harm?’
    His hands cupped both sides of her face. She looked at the firm set of his mouth, anything not to have to gaze into his searching eyes.
    ‘You do know,’ he said. ‘You foolish female.’ He lifted her face, then those wonderful lips descended on hers, gentle, comforting. ‘Tell me, Merry,’ he whispered against her mouth. ‘Let me help you.’
    Then his mouth firmed, it wooed and tormented until she could no longer think of anything but the delicious sensations ravaging her body. Her insides quivered with the joy of it, her heart thundered and she angled her head for better access to those wonderful lips. She pulled her hands from her muff and put them on those powerful shoulders.
    His tongue traced the seam of her mouth, not demanding, sweetly requesting. Resistance had no place in her mind; the joy filling her took up every inch of space. Trembling deep inside she granted him entry and he swept her up on a tide of passion.
    She clung to him, and let her senses drift where they would. Delightful waves of desire washed over her, thrilling and beautiful.
    Slowly he drew back, his brown eyes smoky beneath half-lowered lids, his breathing as ragged as her own. ‘Tell me.’
    The man had no mercy. And she had no will. Never had she felt so weak. So vulnerable. Not since the day her parents died and she’d learned love was a fleeting thing. She shivered.
    ‘Damn,’ he said under his breath. ‘You are still cold. I need to get you back to the house.’ He paused, his dark gaze hardening. ‘But I will have the truth of this.’
    She briefly closed her eyes against the pull of the insidious weakness. Brushed his demand away with a half-laugh. ‘You make mountains from molehills, my lord.’ She sounded breathless. And, God help her, afraid. The moment he released her, the bone-chilling fear had returned. Someone had tried to do her harm. A warning, or had they actually intended her death?
    It didn’t bear thinking of.
    He picked up the reins. ‘Call me Charlie. Make no mistake, Merry, I will not let this rest. You will let me help you.’
    The heir to a dukedom was used to getting his own way. And he wanted to shoulder her burdens. It felt good. For once having a man want to