Forever a Lord by Delilah Marvelle

he had her up against the wall in her house. How he wanted to take those wrists into each hand, pull them up over her head and knot them into place with her own silk stockings. That way, he could have free rein over that luscious body and do whatever he wanted. “The sort of offer I’m thinking about, Imogene, probably isn’t going to suit you or your brother.” He was all about being honest.
    She searched his face amongst the shadows. “I will make it suit us. What were you thinking?”
    A gruff laugh escaped him. If she were any more naive, he’d have to pinch her adorable ass. “You really don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”
    “But I do. I really do. I genuinely want to assure you that—” She blinked rapidly, her features momentarily blanking.
    He hesitated, sensing something was wrong. “What is it?”
    She staggered and then to his heart-pounding astonishment, swooned.
    Jumping toward her, he grabbed hold of her slim body before she hit the gravel, the wet fabric of her robe and nightdress shifting against his bare hands. “Jesus.”
    What the hell just happened?
    Quickly sliding his hands beneath her and with a single toss, he effortlessly hefted her up and into both arms, rolling her body toward his chest, and glanced down at her.
    Her head rolled back, exposing the length of her throat and her full lips unconsciously parted in the shifting light and shadows of the lanterns.
    He quickly leaned in toward her mouth, setting his ear against those lips. Relief trickled in at realizing she was still breathing.
    Get her to Weston. That way, it’s off your hands and it’s not your fault. Tightening his hold on her, he jogged his way back toward the entrance and veered in through the entrance door she had left open.
    Her small hands jumped up to the lapels on his great coat, tightening their hold.
    He jerked to a halt and glanced down at her in the dim candlelight of the foyer, his pulse roaring in his ears. “What happened? Are you all right?”
    She stared up at him, her hazel eyes unfocused. She momentarily closed her eyes before reopening them and half nodded. “Yes. I…I fainted, didn’t I?”
    “Yes,” he breathed out.
    She winced. “I do that.”
    Not good. “Do you want me to call for your brother?”
    “No. He…he would only call upon the doctor.”
    He eyed her. “Don’t you want him to call the doctor?”
    She slowly shook her head. “No. Dr. Filbert always puts me on bed rest. Then I’m not allowed to do anything for days. Not even read. I hate it.” She tightened her hold on the lapels of his coat and peered up at him. “Can you take me up to my room instead? Please?”
    It was the softest and sweetest of pleas he had ever had the pleasure of hearing. It actually made his throat tighten. He searched that pretty, rain-dampened face. “Is that what you want?”
    She half nodded and leaned her blond head against him as if she completely trusted him, which she must, considering she was asking him to take her up into her bedchamber. “’Tis up the stairs on the right. Keep to the right and turn two corners.” She sounded weak, her voice faint. “It will be the eighth door down. And please don’t tell Henry. He always makes a fuss whenever I faint. Promise me you won’t tell him.”
    He couldn’t help but instinctively cradle her closer in response to that plea. “I promise.”
    He made his way up the main stairwell. Once he was on the landing, he carried her, her slippered feet dangling, toward the direction she had given him, turning two corners. It was eerie wandering about such a lavish home. It had been thirty years since he’d found himself in an abode bigger than the peeling walls of a lone room he had leased from an ironmonger back in New York. Nathaniel eventually found the eighth door on the right in the vast corridor.
    “Is this it?” he whispered down at her, so no one could hear him.
    “Yes,” she whispered back.
    The door was wide-open, candlelight