Free Myriah Fire by Claudy Conn Page B

Myriah, I have never claimed to be someone I’m not.” It was a shot in the dark, but he saw from her expression that he had hit his target.
    “OH!” Myriah exclaimed. “I must say, I do question Billy’s judgment. However did he come to think that you are a friendly sort? For you must know that I find you nothing more than a … a … boor!” Myriah turned, very much on the point of abandoning her guided tour.
    * * *
    He laughed suddenly, and there was a beguiling quality in his voice as his hand reached out and caught Myriah’s bare arm. She turned her countenance upon him as a thrill taunted her flesh. The sudden memory of his lips flashed over her—and suddenly it was no longer a memory.
    He had her in his warm embrace, his head bent and his mouth on hers, parting her lips for his velvet, waltzing tongue. She lost herself in the moment, in the dance that was tingling her body and calling for more of the same.
    His kiss evolved into another, and she felt as though she were about to collapse when he pulled back, set her on his feet, and inclined his head. “Forgive me.”
    She wanted to stamp her foot at him but tried to collect herself as he actually took her hand and linked it through his arm, adding, “I took advantage, but damnation, woman, I can’t say I am sorry for it.” He eyed her curiously. “Now tell me, Miss White … who the hell are you?”
    Myriah was bubbling over with confusion. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to slap him. She wanted him to—what? Declare his devotion as her other suitors had? However, he appeared to be in control of himself and was obviously playing some deep game.
    She pulled out of his gentle hold and, without a word, left him standing there, looking after her as she made her hasty departure.
    Her indignation made her unreasonable, and her fury carried her all the way to the house and to her waiting bath.
    * * *
    Lord Wimborne’s deep gray eyes watched Myriah’s body as she ran off. He felt a wave of heat rage through him. His hard-on was damned uncomfortable in his breeches, and he knew he had to stop giving in to this mindless desire he had for her.
    What was wrong with him, anyway? Why did it matter what her real name was? She had been instrumental in saving his brother’s life, and Billy was his treasure. There too lay another source of his discomfort. He had no desire for his brother to develop an attachment to Myriah. Billy had said he wasn’t interested, yet Lord Wimborne found this hard to believe. Indeed, he could not imagine how any man would not fall prey to Myriah’s charms … and certainly Billy was no sophisticate. In fact, Billy’s preoccupation with the flaming chit was beginning to disturb Kit greatly. Again he thought, she would have to go — and soon!
    * * *
    In Billy’s bedchamber a blazing fire crackled and gave a warm backdrop to a cozy scene.
    Myriah’s back was to Billy while her head was bent forward, her long red tresses over her face as she toweled them dry. That she was clothed in nothing more than Master Billy’s long, dark brocade dressing gown and that she was in a state of dishabille seemed insignificant to both parties as they bantered amicably with one another.
    Forgotten were conventionalities and pompous aunts—especially her aunt Emily, who would have raised her eyes to heaven and declared Myriah quite lost to a sense of the proprieties. Here was a friend—the brother she had never had — and Myriah so needed him now.
    London had made her lonely. Odd, for she had been surrounded by frivolous society, but her dearest friends were already married and away in the country. Her new London friends saw her as too great a competition for the London beaux. And the London beaux too often felt it necessary to make of her an object they believed needed coddling. Myriah had discovered she was not formed for such a life. She felt estranged from all her present peers and needed someone to laugh with, be at ease with … to