Page 28 of The Earl's Hired Bride
* * *
How decadent she had become. Past midnight and she could not sleep because she’d become used to late nights.
Her stomach growled. And late suppers.
She hadn’t wished to stay in tonight. She hadn’t wanted to have any quiet time in which to reflect on that kiss. But the countess had pleaded a headache and here she was, with plenty of time to think of Hart’s sweet words, the electric shock of his hands at her back and the wicked temptation of his mouth on hers. She thought of the incredible breadth of his shoulders and the unyielding strength of his body pressed against her. She imagined it happening again. Imagined a lifetime of such kisses—and she wanted to cry.
But she would not.
She was having a magical, once-in-a-lifetime-Season. She was helping a worthy man. She was being paid handsomely for it, which would enable her to make her mother’s life comfortable once more.
Sherefusedto cry.
Her stomach rumbled again and she decided to eat something instead. Cook had made a huge batch of that delicious baked rice with truffles. Surely there was some left in the kitchens?
No need to wake anyone. She went down the back stairs, rummaged around and helped herself. Once she was pleasantly full, but still not sleepy, she decided to wander to the study in search of a novel.
She was reaching for the knob on the study door when a sudden, snorting snore came out of the darkness. It repeated, then settled into a steady rhythm.
She froze.
A servant, asleep at his station? Most likely. Still, she whirled, intending to retreat to her room, and ran straight into an occasional table with her shin. She swore under her breath and dropped her candle.
And with another snort, the snoring abruptly stopped.
* * *
Something woke him.
A thunk? A crash? A gasp?
He hardly knew—but he was happy to wake to clarity. The alcoholic fog had lifted. He felt remarkably alert—as if his life had suddenly snapped into focus.
And his focus was on Emily. On her loyalty, her sweet, protective nature. On how she saw people so clearly. On how her generous mouth felt under his and those voluptuous curves felt pressed to his chest.
It wasn’t enough. He wanted more. All of her, to be his now and forever. It was utterly apparent—they were meant to be together.
If only he hadn’t painstakingly created the situation that made it impossible.
Another thunk and a whispered curse had him turning his head. A faint glow shone from the hall.
It would be her. Down here. With him. Of course it would.
The universe and the heavens and fate—they were all trying to tell him something. He would listen—especially as it was so ardently what he wanted to hear.
She was fiddling with her candle outside the study. “Oh, it’s you.” It wasn’t relief in her tone.
Good.
“I meant to fetch a candle . . . I mean, a book. A novel to help me sleep.”
Her hair was down. Just like in his fantasies. She had it loosely gathered into a thick, ebony braid that snaked over her shoulder and pointed the way down to her glorious bosom. “Which one?” he asked.
“I . . . uh . . .” The candle finally straight, she glanced up at him. She seemed nervous.
Good.
“Which book? If you could have your choice?” he clarified.
