Cheryl Holt Read Online Free Page B

had his manly aptitude gone? Why couldn’t he feel anything? How could he gawk at such a beauty and be indifferent? Masculine instinct, of its own accord, ought to stir some response, no matter how tepid.
    Fatigue set in, and he drifted away, finding it easier to slumber than to deal with reality. He had no answers to the questions that plagued him, could make no sense of the odd failings of a body he no longer recognized. It was simpler to drift, to disregard and neglect.
    Sometime later, a noise woke him, and she was standing over him, clad in a thin robe. The belt was loosely cinched at the waist, the lapels baring her to her navel, the globes of her breasts teasing him from behind the material.
    She smelled like roses, and her hair was still damp, though she’d brushed it. The tresses curled around her hips.
    On espying her, he experienced such a wave of peace and tranquillity that he speculated as to whether the serene, snug place was heaven. Perhaps he’d finally died, as he’d been hoping.
    “Are you an angel?” he asked.
    “No.” She chuckled.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Very.”
    He was desperate to know for certain, and he slipped a hand inside her robe. Her skin was warm and smooth, and he cupped her breast and petted the nipple.
    His crude, disrespectful touching didn’t seem to bother her. She tolerated the naughty gesture, staring him down as if he was a nuisance, as if she’d expected nothing more, and he was furious that she noted none of the physical attributes—the blue eyes, the muscled anatomy—over which his lovers had always gushed. Calmly, she nabbed his roaming extremity, and deposited it on his stomach, and she was so casual about it, he might have supposed that strange men fondling her was a regular occurrence.
    She grabbed a knitted throw off the end of the bed, and tucked it around him, muttering, “Lord, you stink! We’ll bathe you tomorrow, before we send you home.”
    “I don’t want to bathe,” he complained. As if he’d permit her to see him in the altogether!
    “It will make you feel better.”
    “I don’t want to feel
better
. I wish to be left alone.”
    “Your wish is granted, Your Majesty.” She strolled out.
    “What’s your name?” he bellowed, but she kept on. He repeated the query, and when she didn’t reply, his rage escalated. “Where am I? Who brought me here?”
    Why didn’t she stop? How dare she ignore him! Didn’t she realize who he was? Didn’t she recognize his family? With the snap of his fingers, the slash of a pen, he could ruin her!
    Incensed, defenseless, he clasped his pillow and flung it after her. It crashed into the dresser and knocked a figurine to the floor, and the clatter had her stomping back in.
    “I am Mrs. Smythe,” she proclaimed. “Your sister, Lady Eleanor, has abandoned you at my
Healing Spa and BathingEmporium for Women
. It is near to Bath and many hours’ ride from Bristol Manor. This is
my
business, and
my
residence, and you are not welcome. I intend that you will be on your way to Bristol as soon as a carriage can be arranged.” She snatched up the figurine and repositioned it on the dresser, then she marched toward him. “Now, do be silent. I have a tedious schedule tomorrow, and I need my rest.”
    All tenderness absent, she snagged the pillow and stuffed it under his head. “If you toss it again, you’ll sleep without it.”
    She flounced out, grumbling as she went. “Impossible, blue-blooded, arrogant, pampered . . .”
    The epithets trailed off, and he listened as she strode up the stairs, as she trekked to the room above him and climbed into bed.
    Embarrassed and contrite, he exhaled and peered out the window, studying the stars.
    So . . . Eleanor had delivered him. To a
women’s
establishment, operated by a fussy, authoritarian, nudity-flaunting witch. If he hadn’t felt so miserable, he might have laughed.
    What had Eleanor been thinking? That he could be restored at some . . . some bathhouse? That a rude,