Free Frovtunes’ Kiss by Lisa Manuel

Foster had been not only widowed—well, not his fault—but thrown out of her home—most assuredly his fault—within a few short months.
    â€œNow then, Miss Hughes.” He closed two of the books she’d left open on the desk, moved them aside, and leaned forward, his face expectant and still so damnably amused. “What have you to say for yourself?”
    The scoundrel made her feel like a child. Saw her vulnerability and made full use of it. Holding her chin steady when it wanted to slink into her collar, she mustered the dignity of knowing she, in truth, was the injured party here. “What I have to say, my lord, you might not like to hear.”
    He held up the flat of his hand. “I’d much prefer you not call me
my lord.”
    â€œVery well, then, Mr. Foster—”
    â€œWill you not call me Graham?”
    â€œMost assuredly not.”
    â€œBecause I’d like to call you Moira.” Again that grin, those dimples. And that unsettling sensation that traveled through her and curled tight in her belly.
    â€œYou may not, sir.” She squared her shoulders and glowered, then wished she hadn’t displayed any emotion at all when his eyes flashed with mocking humor.
    â€œA pity.” He sighed, compressed his lips, and made a show of appearing uncertain. “Tell me, Miss Hughes, have I again departed the dictates of propriety?”
    â€œYou don’t need me to tell you that, Mr. Foster.”
    â€œPerhaps not.” He slid closed several gaping desk drawers. Before closing the topmost one, he reached into his coat pocket and dropped something—she could only assume that it was the repulsive spider—inside. After shutting the drawer gently, he flattened his palms to the desktop and pushed to his feet. His amusement melted away as he circled the desk, and with it went the boyish impertinence she’d come to associate with him. Suddenly he was every inch a lord, and very much in command.
    She wanted to back away, thought with longing of the safety of her window recess. He came closer despite her willing him to stop a suitable distance away. He filled her vision. She had to look up and up to see the top of his sun-kissed head while the room disappeared behind the broad, hard curve of his shoulders. Waiting, she drew an unsteady breath that filled her with the taste of him, warm and exotic, a sun-drenched wilderness.
    â€œWhat I need,” he said when they stood nearly toe to toe, “is for you to tell me why you’re here and what it is you want of me, Moira Hughes.”
    Goose bumps rose at the sound of her name, spoken in rumbling notes that grazed her lips and cheeks like a lover’s gentle kiss. It left her trembling, confused. Frightened. How could the man make her feel seized and kissed without ever laying a hand upon her?
    Abandoning subtlety and even pride, she backed a step away. So what if he deduced her need for safety? This man bewildered and alarmed her. His effect on her called for extreme measures.
    She looked him directly in the eye. “I want what’s mine and my mother’s, Mr. Foster. Nothing less will suffice.”
    â€œYou believe I have something of yours?”
    â€œI do, Mr. Foster. And before I leave, I mean to have it.”
    He leaned closer still—much too close—and raised his hand to the sensitive skin beneath her chin. His fingertips barely skimmed her, yet commanded every nerve in her body to quiver at attention. “What makes you think, my dear cousin Moira, that I’ll allow you to leave?”
    Before she could form a reply, he tilted her chin and trapped her lips beneath his own.

CHAPTER
       6      
    S haun Paddington rushed along the foot pavement until a thought brought him to a dead halt. Where would he find a magistrate? Must he go all the way to Bow Street near Covent Garden? That would take considerable time. Or did every