Rules of Engagement by Christina Dodd Page B

burning merrily in the grate, although it was a warm night. Now flames shot out, curling fantastically in puffs of orange dragon fire.
    I've fallen asleep. I'm dreaming, he realized, pleased with the acuity of his deduction.
    A good dream, he recognized a moment later. A very good dream.
    A woman stood before the hearth, her back to him, her hand resting on a chair. She was silhouetted against the flames and she was, of course, what made it a good dream, for she was stark naked.
    But unlike all the other naked ladies who had lately invaded his bedchamber, this one was perfection.
    This wasn't the senior upstairs maid. This was youth and a maiden's innocence and beauty incarnate. Her caramel-colored hair was piled atop her head in a swirl that defied gravity, and glinted with sparks of amber and chestnut. For a woman, her shoulders were broad, yet soft and golden, and the long indent of her spine led his gaze inevitably to the cleft of her bottom.
    What a bottom it was. The globes were full, yet tight and high, the kind he would hold in his hands as this woman straddled him and rode him for hours, for days. She wouldn't tire, not this woman of abundant charms. Nor would he, for his erection throbbed as it had when he was a half-grown lad getting an eyeful of one girl's forbidden graces.
    As always in a dream, he couldn't move, so he forced himself to call out, "Come on, then. Give me what you've always promised."
    And she turned, providing a glimpse of full breasts, the indent of navel in the smooth flesh of her belly, the triangle of hair that hid the petals of nature's sweetest rose.
    Just as in real life, he stared at her body until his eyes ached and it occurred to him that she wouldn't walk toward him or kiss his lips or place her naked form against his until he looked at her face. Women, even dream women, were funny that way.
    So with painful effort he lifted his gaze from the smooth, rose-colored nipples to her face—and screamed.
    That man was sure staring at Miss Lockhart funny.
    Lord Kerrich hadn't stared at her like that yesterday, and Beth didn't understand why he would be all big-eyed and suspicious today. It wasn't as if Miss Lockhart had mucked up her looks or anything. She wore a gown that bunched around her shoulders, a brown one today. Her tinted spectacles slid down her nose, and when Lord Kerrich strolled into the classroom carrying his cane, wearing a monocle, and dressed as dapper as bedamned, she still got that sour expression like he gave her a bellyache.
    "My lord." Miss Lockhart stopped smack in the middle of the spelling lesson and curtsied. "We didn't expect you so early. It's not yet gone eleven."
    "Couldn't sleep," Lord Kerrich said, as grumpy as you please.
    Beth had stood when he came into the room, and when he stopped before her, she curtsied, feeling almost jaunty in the pink dimity gown, which was only a little faded and was actually ironed, and the white pinafore with the ruffles on the shoulders.
    He just looked her over and pronounced, "You're clean. Stay that way."
    "Yes, my lord." An idea occurred to her, and she was so taken with it she dared say, "If I stay clean, I don't have to have any more baths, do I?"
    "Oh, no." He shook his head. "You're not involving me in that battle. Miss Lockhart, teach something. I have things to think about." Marching to the rear of the classroom, he paced back and forth, and every time Beth glanced his way he was looking at Miss Lockhart like she scared him.
    Beth fidgeted in her desk. She already knew all this corn about reading and writing, but Miss Lockhart called this a review, so Beth was free to examine Miss Lockhart and figure out why Lord Kerrich was gawking so.
    Of a surety, this morning with the sun shining through the big windows, her face looked eerie, too pale with pink color on her cheeks, but all in all she had the demeanor of a lady, the lady who had taken Beth from the orphanage and given her a chance at a new life.
    Beth knew how to be