Free This Earl Is on Fire by Vivienne Lorret

residue. She wanted to wipe it over her own lips, but such an action would be far too intimate.
    She needed a distraction. And some distance would be preferable too. “There is also beeswax in the salve.”
    â€œIs that so?” He grinned, apparently amused as he placed the jar and the key on the bedside table.
    â€œBoswickshire boasts the finest honey. In fact, we might have a jar in the larder. I could assemble a tray, if you have the appetite.”
    The instant she made the offer, she expected him to look down at her foot and shake his head in polite rejection. No matter where she went in the village, everyone knew of her limb and believed her incapable of so much as carrying her own ribbons to the carriage. And Father had never once let her walk there. It had taken him years to allow her to venture as far as the stables.
    Liam, however, surprised her by accepting without hesitation. “A hearty appetite, in fact.”
    Her cheeks heated once more at the low timbre of his voice. His gaze dipped but not to her foot. To her mouth instead. And then drifted down her throat.
    Suddenly, her offer seemed more intimate than a cheese plate.
    L iam was ravenous. He devoured slice after slice of dark, grainy bread smeared with soft, salty cheese and drizzled with sweet, golden honey. “Miss Pimm, how did you ever discover such a delicious combination of flavors?”
    Her gaze slid down to his mouth as he licked at a stray drop of honey. Actually, her gaze dipped often. He doubted that she realized how obvious her aroused state was. The signs were there. Now that he could see, he didn’t miss a thing. Her dark pupils expanded, nearly eclipsing the acorn brown of her irises. All that remained was a ring of golden brown in between those mirrors and a blue rim along the outside.
    Whenever he pressed his lips together, so did she. Whenever he swallowed, she did the same. And whenever their eyes met, she would look furtively down to the plate. Then she would cut into the end of the loaf.
    And because it aroused him to watch her watching him, he’d already eaten six slices. At this rate, he would gain twenty stone by tomorrow.
    â€œMiss Pimm?” he asked, when his previous question went unanswered.
    She blinked at him and licked her lips. “Pardon?”
    Even that single word tunneled through him. That lush, brushed-velvet voice could set a man aflame. Liam should have guessed she would have a mouth to match it—ever so slightly plumped and with the barest of indentions in the center of her bottom lip. The perfect spot for a dab of honey and the tip of a tongue. His .
    But no , he should not think those things. He reminded himself that he did not tamper with debutantes. No matter how tempting they were.
    He repeated the question, asking her about the food she’d chosen.
    â€œQuite honestly, the pantry was not as full as I’d hoped. I had thought to find a wheel of the sharp, veined cheese that one of our tenants makes. It pairs rather splendidly with our honey,” she said, busily slathering another slice of bread with creamy white cheese. “Unfortunately, the majority of our foodstuffs are packed and traveling with our cook and the rest of the servants. They should arrive on the morrow.”
    After adding a drizzle of honey, she lifted the slice to him. He wondered what she would do if he asked her to feed it to him. Likely she would grow still, as she had earlier when she’d smoothed salve over his cut. It was puzzling to see her so at ease with him one moment and then as skittish as a sparrow the next. Then again, he was rarely in the company of debutantes and did not know if they were all like this—seeming to flirt and then afraid of the results.
    He liked to tease her, though. “Then tomorrow I shall look forward to another taste of your Boswickshire honey.”
    And yes, he intended the double entendre. He couldn’t help it.
    He took a greedy bite, paying