Deck The Halls With Love: Lost Lords Of Pembrook Novella Read Online Free Page A

had once smiled at him as though he could do no wrong. Yet he had managed to do wrong aplenty.
    He barely moved when he heard the door open. Slowly shifting his gaze over, he wondered briefly if he’d already fallen asleep, because there she was in a much simpler dress than she’d been wearing earlier. No petticoats. Possibly no corset. It was designed for comfort, not company. It could also be discarded in a flash if a man were to set his mind to removing it. He had imbibed a bit too much because he was already envisioning the joy he would experience in giving all those buttons their freedom.
    Her braided hair fell past her hips, her slippers were plain. Nothing about her was intentionally enticing, and yet he was thoroughly beguiled.
    She glanced around warily. He held still, waiting for the moment when she would see him. Only she didn’t, and he realized the deep shadows and the angle of the chair hid his presence from her. She swept her gaze around the room once more before returning to the door and closing it with a hushed snick.
    He wondered if she was waiting for Litton. Chetwyn thought that if the viscount came through the door, he might very well lose any semblance he had of being a gentleman. He wouldn’t stand for it, watching them behave as lovers. It could be the only reason for this late-night tryst, and dammit all to hell, she appeared to be anticipating it. Her eyes took on a glow, her smile was one of someone doing what she ought not to be caught doing. Dear God, help him, but he wanted to kiss those lips, he wanted to be doing things with them that he ought not to be doing.
    She wandered over to the billiards table and scraped her fingers over the baize top as she slowly walked its length. Against the taut cloth, her nails made a faint raspy sound, and it was all he could do not to groan as he imagined her trailing those fingertips over his chest, circling around his nipples, pinching, leaning in—
    She stilled, and his thoughts careened to a stop as though she’d heard them. She glanced over her shoulder, and he feared that he had made a sound. He wasn’t quite ready for her to know that he was there. Again, he wondered if she was meeting Litton, if she was going to stretch out on the table for her lover. Would he unravel her hair and spread it across the green? Would he worship her as she deserved to be worshipped?
    Chetwyn imagined removing her slippers, kissing her toes, then taking his mouth on a slow, leisurely journey up her calves, over her knees, along her thighs—
    Christ! If he carried on with these imaginings, he was going to be unable to stand when Litton showed. If the rumors being bandied about were true, he’d compromised her once in a garden. He wouldn’t hesitate to do so here, long after the stroke of midnight, when most were abed and no one was about to interrupt. Chetwyn flexed the fingers not holding the glass. He rather fancied the idea of introducing his fist to Litton’s nose.
    She fairly skipped over to the rack on the wall and selected a cue stick. Mesmerized, he watched as she tested its weight, twirled it between her fingers, and carried it over to the table. She gathered the balls, racked them; then, cue in hand, she leaned over, presenting him with a rather enticing view of her backside. A tiny voice urged him to stay where he was, to enjoy the unexpected gift of her arrival, but it was such a small voice, easily ignored, and he could enjoy her so much more if no distance separated them.
    Unable to hold back his anticipation, he unfolded his body and crept over to where she was carefully positioning her cue. When he was near enough to smell her rose fragrance, he leaned in and whispered in a low, sensual drawl, “You’re doing it all wrong.”
    With a startled yelp, she flung herself backward, her head smacking soundly into his jaw—
    And the world went black.
    W ith her heart pounding, her entire body quaking, Meredith dropped to her knees, more because of their