Free Out Of Her League, An Erotic Romance by Ava Archer Payne Page B

was certainly not an item he’d expect Sally to launder with Thursday’s linens.
    The grate had been stocked with kindling but hadn’t been lit. He removed a box of matches from the hearth and saw to the task. Once the blaze roared in earnest he tossed in the shirt, his thoughts wandering as he watched the flames lick the edges of the cloth.
    He’d bed skilled lovers before, but none had had the effect on him that Kate had. It was almost too much for a man to take. The feel of her silken masses of hair against his chest, the incredible softness of her skin, the delectable curve of her hips, the juxtaposition of the heaviness of her breasts against the delicate lightness of her frame. All of that, combined with her magnificent carnal curiosity.
    No dainty, simpering embraces for her. Kate liked it rough and wild, coupled with a touch of sin. Thank the Lord Almighty. Here was a woman who could meet his passion with her own. His cock swelled again just thinking about it. The games they could play…
    He contemplated the fire, wishing he truly could have thrown her starched cap in the hearth. Her dress should have joined the flames as well. He’d seen more attractive smocks on scullery maids. The thought troubled him. While he understood that in her position as a nurse she wouldn’t want her to draw undue attention to herself, there existed a multitude of demure things she could wear.
    Women had invented all manner of horrid fashion for the sole purpose of hiding the beauty of their bodies. Starched aprons, thick muslins, hems that dragged past their ankles and collars that buttoned up to their ears.
    But the frayed, outdated clothing Kate wore bore the mark of neglect. Indifference. If he had a sister, which he didn’t, he certainly wouldn’t permit her to leave the house dressed in rags. Kate had two brothers, both surgeons, presumably capable of providing better. So why did they allow her to dress in such a fashion?
    Kate had too much spunk and intelligence for him to risk asking her directly—no doubt she would be mortified if she even guessed his thoughts. But it bothered him, and he resolved to discreetly look into the matter.
    The sound of wheels against the crushed gravel of his drive alerted him to the arrival of guests. His footman, Owen, appeared in the doorway moments later. “The viscountess has arrived,” he said.
    James let out a breath. His mother. He gave Owen a curt nod. “Show her into the library.” He waited for his footman to return with a fresh shirt and jacket, then went to join her. He found her pacing back and forth in a state of high agitation.
    “It is simply not conceivable,” his mother said without preamble, “that Miss Kittworthy should have been so duplicitous. She knew the ball I’m throwing was meant to be an announcement of your betrothal. The invitations have already been sent. Now word is all over London that she has broken off with you and taken up with the Duke of Ellerbee. It’s humiliating, that’s what it is.”
    “Humiliating to whom?”
    “Why, to you, of course. And to me. I will not be trumped in my own home.”
    James set aside his crutches. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorway. “Do I look humiliated?”
    His mother stopped pacing, truly looking at him for the first time since she’d entered the room. Her face suddenly softened. A tremulous smile curved her lips and her deep blue eyes glistened. “You look like the old James,” she said. “The way you did years ago, before you left for the war.”
    “The rake and the cad who was forever embarrassing you?”
    “Exactly.” She released a shaky laugh. “My incorrigible youngest son. How lovely to have you back.” She moved to James and wrapped him in a tight embrace. Not a woman normally given to displays of emotion, she pulled back forthwith and dabbed at her eyes. “You shall have to double Dr. Michaelson’s fee.”
    “I’ve already decided to do exactly