Free Wonderful by Cheryl Holt Page A

sequestered again. She huffed out a frustrated breath.
    “We can’t be in here like this,” she insisted.
    “As I said, Evangeline, it’s my house. I can act how I please.”
    “Well, I can’t! What if a servant saw us? What if he told the vicar and—”
    Before she could finish her sentence, he swooped in and kissed her.
    He slid an arm around her waist and held her close so the entire front of her delicious, voluptuous torso was crushed to his own. The sensation was so stirring that his knees nearly buckled.
    For a brief second, she shoved at his chest, but he wasn’t about to release her. Ever since their fleeting kiss in the music room, he’d been dying to do it again, to do it more fully and completely so, hopefully, he would tamp down some of the lust she induced in him. But the embrace provided no indication that his ardor might be lessened. If anything, it was immediately pitched to a new and frightening level.
    His hands roamed over her body, tracing her shoulders, her back. His fingers went to her spectacular blond hair, and he plucked out the combs, the blond mass falling down in an intoxicating wave. He riffled through it, the feel of the soft strands rattling him, goading him to take the kiss farther than it should ever go.
    Ultimately, he began massaging her buttocks, pulling her loins to his own, and it was a limit she wouldn’t allow him to cross. She yanked away, murmuring, “No, no, I can’t.”
    Her pleading tone stopped him, and they stood in silent misery, their foreheads pressed together, their breathing labored as if they’d run a long race.
    He’d never been so titillated, and he yearned to pick her up, to carry her into the bedchamber and try things with her he’d never previously considered with a female. It was a wild and feral urge that was almost beyond his control, and—should he give it free rein—it would ignite a spark and incinerate them both.
    He gazed down at her. She looked rumpled and adorable, and he was so smitten by her.
    Before he’d left London, he’d told his father that he wouldn’t marry Priscilla, that he planned to cry off. Lord Sidwell had counseled that it was simply bachelor’s jitters, and as a cure, he’d suggested Aaron meet a nice girl and have a fling to work off some of his discontentment.
    Aaron had scoffed at the notion, but why had he? Why not have an affair? What was preventing him?
    Her wedding was in a month, and his was in six weeks. Neither of them was eager to proceed. Why not misbehave for a short interval before duty and obligation rendered many onerous challenges?
    Aaron could stay at Fox Run for the month, could have thirty whole days with Evangeline! Why shouldn’t they seize the opportunity? Who would ever know? And if no one knew, where was the harm? He would never tell Priscilla, and Evangeline need never confess to Iggy. It was the ideal solution.
    “I’m going to ask you a question,” he said, “and you have to say yes . Don’t you dare refuse. I couldn’t bear it.”
    “What is it?”
    “I want us to have an affair.”
    “What? No, absolutely not.”
    “Evangeline…”
    “Don’t call me by my Christian name. It’s not right.”
    “We can have an entire month together.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a slight shake. “We can loaf and play and please ourselves.”
    “No!”
    “It will be a secret we’d take to our graves.”
    “You’re mad,” she chided, “and you insult me by mentioning it.”
    “Why?”
    “There’s no benefit for me to participate. No benefit at all, and if the vicar found out—which he would—my chance to marry would be destroyed.”
    “Then be my mistress. Tell my cousin to sod off, and I’ll move you to London and buy you a cozy little house. I’ll fill it with a staff of fawning servants and attire you in the prettiest clothes. I could be with you all the time.”
    Aaron was shocked he’d tendered the scandalous proposal. He hadn’t meant to; it had just