Free The Duke of Morewether’s Secret by Amylynn Bright Page A

going on about now. She never wanted this heated feeling to stop. No, she desperately wanted to ride the waves of feeling, feelings that must be desire, to completion.
    Christian’s head lifted from her skin, and she missed his lips keenly. “No, Christian, don’t stop.”
    Suddenly, his mouth was gone. His lips were gone. She swayed from the absence of his steadying hands. Thea blinked, her eyes opened, bewildered. Christian stood several paces away, his face white and his visage a mask of panic.
    Thea extended her hand. “Are you all right?” She advanced a timid pace with her arm outstretched toward him, certain he must be ill and require her assistance.
    “I need to go,” he blurted and shied away from her hand. “Go straight back the way we came, around the hedge. You’ll see the terrace lights.” All the while Christian backed away from her. One step, then two before he caught his heel on the foot of the bench and tumbled backwards. He swore bitterly, a word Thea was unfamiliar with but was certain wasn’t normally meant for ladies ears. Again, Thea leapt forward in an attempt to aid him, but he sprang to his feet. “Hurry, you’ll be safe.”
    “I don’t understand.” Truly she didn’t. The man almost acted afraid of her. And things had been progressing so swimmingly.
    “Just go,” Christian almost yelled and pointed towards the house. He positioned himself with the bench between them.
    “Fine. Fine I’ll go.” Thea adjusted her dress to cover her shoulder and turned on her heel to stalk back to the house.
    What in Hades is wrong with these English and that man in particular?
    Thea snorted. London’s greatest lover acted like he was terrified of her and that didn’t make her feel especially desirable. Not at all. She might not be exactly what the English men wanted in a wife, or apparently a lover, but she wasn’t hideous. His rejection hurt and that thought made her angrier with each step across the damp grass. Around the sculptured hedge and she saw the terrace just as he’d said. She heard his steps and hard breathing from behind her. Her breathing was as rapid, but now it was from ire and embarrassment. Before, as she’d melted into his touch, she’d obviously misinterpreted the shape in his trousers as arousal matching hers. What an ignorant fool she’d been.
    She would have no more to do with him.
    After all, she reminded herself for the millionth time, she wasn’t in England looking for a husband.
    Christian had made it to White’s on foot.
    No matter how many swigs of whiskey he swallowed, not even when they came directly from the bottle, could he forget the look of shame that replaced the lazy look of ardor on Thea’s face when he pushed her away.
    Earlier, some damn fool had laid the blunt from his winning wager on the table before him, but his foul mood had quickly chased the idiots away, scampering back to the pack of moronic, wet-behind-the-ears youths playing cards across the room. Was it possible he’d ever been so young and full of himself? Had he ever been so indiscriminate? And loud? And asinine?
    Christian had reached the point of drunkenness where a certain clarity crystallized before him. For the first hours spent in the squat leather chair in the dark corner of his gentleman’s club, he was able to deny the truth, but time and alcohol ferreted out the lies.
    He took another long swig and ignored the servant who came to tend to his needs.
    He liked her. Thea. The Greek. He took another long pull of amber truth. She was gorgeous, but that wasn’t why he liked her. She was also intelligent and witty, but that wasn’t why either. The chit fascinated him. Everything about her drew him to her. It would be much easier if it was only lust, but no. Her brain, that quirky sense of humor, and damn it all to hell, the aloofness she’d exhibited up until tonight.
    The bottle was empty when he went to refill his glass. He eyed the wary waiter from before and a new bottle