Sinful (Hot Regency Romance Novella) by Sharon Page Page B

out
on her rump? What if the butler suspected she’d knocked the duke
over the head? She shivered. The room was damp and chilly even
though it was late August. Drawing off her gloves, she brushed her
fingertips over the bronzed shoulder in front of her. His skin was
cool. A silk throw lay across a wing chair. She plucked it up. The
chill of his skin made her feel cold; it made her shiver once more,
just for him.
    Gently, she arranged the blanket over his
smooth, muscled back. She tugged it down to his slim waist, to
cover his hips, buttocks, and legs. His bottom proved tighter,
rounder, than any she’d ever seen, his legs long and powerfully
built.
    Any woman would quiver, faced with such male
beauty, but she knew there was fear beneath the tremble of her
shoulders. A man this strong could easily hurt her. He had been
kind to her once, so long ago, but she now intended to lie her way
into his bed.
    First she had to wake him. She gently touched
his forehead to brush back his hair. A thick lock had fallen into
his eye—
    His hand shot out and clamped onto her wrist.
A scream flew out into the room. Hers.
    The duke moved so fast, she couldn’t think.
He pushed her down to the floor. His big hands pinned her shoulders
and he was braced over her, his legs on either side of her hips.
His knees pressed into her skirts. She stared up into his eyes.
Still violet and every bit as astonishing as they’d been five years
before.
    “Your Grace.” Her voice was barely a croak.
“Your Grace, I—I did not mean you any harm. I am the woman the Earl
of Ashton sent.” The lie dropped off her lips. She prayed he
believed it. Lord Ashton had no idea she’d overheard his
conversation when he had been trying to coax another woman to come
to the duke—her friend Kat, who already had a protector.
    The duke’s heart pounded against her breasts.
His gaze still focused over her head. His eyes didn’t look injured
at all. It was only because he didn’t focus on her that she could
tell he was blind. Everyone in England knew the hero of war, the
Duke of March, had miraculously survived a bayonet wound to the
head that should have killed him, but had lost his sight. A deep
scar disappeared into his hair.
    “Hell,” the duke muttered. His head dropped,
then he rolled off her, landing hard on his side on the floor.
“Ashton sent you? You are the whore he thought would heal me with
pleasure?”
    Anne flinched. She still did at the word whore . Even though she had been one for a very long time. He
spoke with such a dismissive tone, her stomach churned. “Yes,” she
said, trying to sound confident. As saucy as a paid ladybird
should.
    “Didn’t Treadwell frighten you away?”
    “He made an admirable attempt, but I was
insistent. After all, I had direction from Lord Ashton to see you.
I do not understand why you would engage such an odd creature as
your butler. Do you wish to frighten callers away?”
    “Yes, angel, I do.”
    Anne struggled to sit up and her corset
jabbed into her, below her breasts. She hissed in pain.
    The duke reached for her. She took his hand
and he pulled her upright.
    “I’m sorry I leapt on you, my dear. But why
in Hades did you creep up on me without announcing yourself?”
    “Your butler directed me to your study, then
left me to my own devices. I entered alone and found you
asleep.”
    “Passed out, you mean.” The lashes dropped.
He stroked the stubble on his chin—more of a beard than simply
stubble. He must not have shaved for many days. “Don’t ever do it
again. I could have killed you.”
    “Killed me?” she squeaked.
    “Yes, angel,” he snapped. “I could have
wrapped my hands around your pretty neck and broken it before I
came to my senses. It’s a souvenir from the war: When I’m not
expecting someone to touch me, I sometimes think the person is
trying to kill me.”
    A shudder tumbled down her back. “Well, I am
not.” What had she gotten into? Could he really have killed her and
then,