Passions of a Wicked Earl by Lorraine Heath

She should stop drinking.
    She skimmed her fingers over the dog’s head. “I think he was simply lonely. I know what it is to be lonely. I’m certain once he wakes up, he’ll return to your side.”
    “Were you lonely at Lyons Place?”
    She lifted her gaze from the dog. She saw no mockery in Westcliffe’s eyes, only true curiosity. “Wasn’t that your purpose in leaving me there?”
    “My purpose was to keep you out of my sight. You seemed to welcome the idea. I didn’t even see you when I visited the manor.”
    She sipped the wine, felt it tripping over her tongue. “The first winter you were there, I could see your bedchamber from mine.” The manor was built in the shape of a U. She lived in the east wing while he’d taken up residence in the west. It was very easy to avoid him. The first night, she’d peered between the draperies in her room and watched him undress. She’d been amazed by the clarity of the view. She’d watched as his body had been unveiled—toned muscles, flat stomach, rounded buttocks. He’d turned, she’d slammed her eyes closed, and when she’d dared to open them again, he was standing at the window, visible from the waist up, his arms stretched high over his head as though he’d been gripping the window casing. “You seemed to put yourself on display. Were you aware I was watching?”
    Instead of answering her, he raised a knee, draped his wrist over it, swirled his wine, and asked, “What did you see?”
    “Nearly everything.” Feeling the heat suffuse her face, she turned her attention to the fire and watched the low flames dancing.
    “I didn’t know which room you’d taken,” he said. Then he taunted her, “Did you like what you saw?”
    She peered at him beneath her lashes. So much easier to admit the truth when she didn’t meet his gaze directly. “I was conflicted. Part of me was glad you didn’t consummate our marriage on our wedding night, and part of me wondered if it would have been so awful.”
    “I assure you it would not have been awful. I was quite experienced by then.”
    “Yes, I know. I’d heard. I think that was part of what terrified me. You were accustomed to women who knew what they were about, and I was not accustomed to men.”
    Setting his goblet aside, he wrapped his hands around her feet, placed them on his thigh, and began kneading the soles. She’d have pulled them away, but they’d grown cold, in spite of the fire, and his hands were so remarkably warm. “I had no plans to ravish you like a barbarian.”
    And she wondered if he’d have touched her like this: slowly, deliberately, sensuously, as though his thumbs and fingers were well versed in how to manipulate every aspect of her feet so her entire body felt each touch.
    “As I said last night, I was a silly girl.” She took a large gulp of her wine. She’d also been a coward. After catching a glimpse of him in the flesh that first winter, she’d moved across the hallway to avoid the temptation of watching him again. Afterward, she’d avoided him every time he visited, each year longer and more desolate than the one that came before. Servants alerted her whenever he came to the estate, and she kept to her rooms, to her wing. It wasn’t difficult to avoid him in the monstrosity that was Lyons Place.
    Last winter she’d been gazing out the window of her bedchamber when she’d noticed a man striding toward the stables. She’d asked her lady’s maid who he was. Judith had glanced out the window, and said, “Why it’s his lordship.”
    He’d looked broader than she’d remembered. Taller. His hair longer. She didn’t know why she’d thought he’d remain unchanged through the years. She certainly hadn’t.
    But to see him now, she thought of the two of them that he’d changed the most. He’d left all evidence of boyishness behind. He was a man to be reckoned with, a man who exuded power and influence. There was a calm confidence about him that had been lacking before. He