Page 34 of My Wicked Earl
GRANDMOTHER,the other source of Miranda’s misery, snored softly on the leather seat beside her. Clutching a book of poetry in her gloved hands, the Dowager nodded off almost immediately after leaving Cambourne House and hadn’t stirred since.
The coach hitched to the side, skimming the side of a rut in the road, and Miranda fell against the coach window.
A polished boot tip, attached to a long, lean, muscled leg, slid under Miranda’s skirts as the coach rocked. The toe of that boot brushed intimately against her slipper, neatly trapping a swath of sprigged muslin skirts.
“Please remove your foot.” She ignored the delicious tingle that ran up her leg at even this minor touch.
The boot slid deliberatelyfurtherinto her skirts, ignoring her command.
“How do you find Lady Helen?” Eyes the color of hot chocolate regarded her politely, as if they were engaged in discussing the weather and his foot wasn’t lingering intimately against her ankle.
Spoiled. Selfish. With an odd fascination for birds. Except for her strange hobby she reminds me quite a bit of my mother.
Colin’s fingers brushed down his thighs, graceful and strong. He’d removed his gloves the moment the coach lurched forward, and the discarded bits of leather sat at his side. A callous dotted one elegant forefinger that held just a shadow of ink, as if he’d been working on the accounts of Runshaw Park.
She loved his hands. They were capable of all manner of wicked things.
“Lady Helen is lovely, of course. Blonde and delicate.” Heat was surging up her leg from the feel of his boot. “She’s as rich as Grandmother says. Her dowry is obscene.”
Colin’s brow wrinkled at the mention of Lady Helen’s dowry.
“There’s no need to frown, Lord Kilmaire. I believe that was one of your requirements was it not? A large dowry?” She lifted a brow.
“It is.” His eyes narrowed. “Please, do go on.”
“Lady Helen has a huge admiration for birds. I believe she is quite enamored of our feathered friends and is an avid birdwatcher. You will find yourself with quite an education on the various species that inhabit the woods around Gray Covington. Given that her father was a dairy farmer before becoming an earl, I would rather have thought her obsession would be more of the bovine persuasion.” She shrugged. “Her manners are a bit rough, but I’m sure that would not deter you from courting her.”
The toe of his boot moved again, this time directlybetweenher feet, or rather, her legs. Heat blossomed and rolled up the length of her body. If Colin chose to, he could easily trail his foot up her silk clad calf to the inside of her thigh. A bit of her skirt caught on the heel of his boot.
“Have a care, Lord Kilmaire. You’ll ruin my dress.” The words rolled off her tongue without thinking, sounding more like an invitation than the chastisement she meant it to be.
Heat flared between them. The dark gaze flickered over her breasts to trail down her stomach to her clasped hands.
Miranda’s breath caught as her body responded to his gaze. Shamefully.Wantonly. Honey spooled between her legs and she shifted slightly, trying to assuage the sudden ache.
One side of his mouth lifted in a half-smile.
Damn him.
“I believe you’ve mentioned such a thing to me before.” His voice lowered to a husky whisper.
Miranda spared a glance at her grandmother who continued to snore softly, oblivious to Colin’s flirtation.
And hewasflirting with her. Although she wasn’t sure why. Two days ago, in her grandmother’s sitting room, he’d been dreadful to her.Brutal.
“That was a long time ago.” She paused pressing her lips together and watched as his gaze moved to her mouth. “Please, move your foot.”
“Whatever happened to Lord St. Remy, I wonder?” His fingers drummed a bit on his thighs.
Why must he move his fingers in such a way. It brought to mind a great many other things, none of which were appropriate.
“You really should make more of an effort to wear gloves, Lord Kilmaire. You are no longer at Runshaw Park, but out in society.” Miranda dipped her head towards his bare hands.
“I find I cannot grip things properly in gloves. Or,” he said in a softly teasing tone, “touch things in a manner I wish.”
A slight tremor ran through her. Oh, yes. She remembered very well the way his big hands cupped her breasts. This was a rather tortuous game he played with her. Delicious and arousing but with a hint of bottled anger.
“Will you answer me?” He said in a silky voice. “What became of St. Remy?”
