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

weakened state than the man sprawled on the floor. Had she killed him? Dear God, her father abhorred scandal, and she couldn’t think of anything that would set tongues to wagging faster than murder. She could envision herself traipsing toward the gallows with her father berating her the entire way for bringing shame upon the family.
    “Chetwyn?” She placed her palm against his cheek, felt the stubble prick her tender flesh, and fought not to compare it to the stiff baize over which she trailed her fingers only moments before. She much preferred the warmth of his skin and the bristles that were thicker than she imagined and a shade darker than his hair. He should have appeared unkempt. Instead he looked very, very dangerous, and something that greatly resembled pleasure settled in the pit of her stomach. Why didn’t she ever feel this liquid fire that spread into her limbs when she was in Litton’s presence?
    She leaned lower and inhaled Chetwyn’s bergamot fragrance mingled with Scotch. She considered pressing her lips to his, just for a taste. How often—before he had shifted his attentions to Lady Anne—had she longed for a turn about the garden with him that would have resulted in an illicit kiss? It was her shameful secret, her dark fantasy that in a shadowed part of a garden he would cease to be a gentleman, and she would no longer act as a lady. She had wanted so much with him that she hadn’t wanted with other admirers. She wished he hadn’t come here, that his presence wasn’t reminding her of all her silly imaginings. She wanted to marry Litton, to be his wife, his countess eventually—after his father passed.
    Yet, if she were honest with herself, Chetwyn stirred something deep within her that Litton had yet to reach. And that acknowledgment terrified her. Would she make him happy if her thoughts could stray so easily to another?
    As he groaned, Chetwyn opened his eyes wide, blinked, and rubbed his jaw. “You’ve got quite the punch,” he muttered.
    Now that she saw he was going to be all right, irritation swamped her. “You have a jaw like glass. None of my brothers would have gone down that easily or that hard. It’s a wonder you didn’t shake the foundation of the residence. What the devil were you doing here, sneaking up on me?”
    “It’s the gentlemen’s room, so the question, sweetheart, is what are you doing here?”
    She settled back on her heels, not quite ready to leave until she saw him firmly on his feet, although a small a part of her was wishing she had killed him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was having difficulty falling asleep. I was looking for the library so I might find a book to read.”
    He had the audacity to give her a wolfish grin that did nothing to settle her riotous thoughts. If anything, it only made her want to kiss him all the more. Whatever was wrong with her?
    “But once you realized you weren’t in the library, you didn’t leave. I think you purposely came here.”
    “Think what you want.” Rising to her feet, she turned to leave.
    “Are you meeting someone?” he asked.
    She spun back around. “Of course not. I’m a lady. I don’t—”
    She abruptly cut off her protest. She had been alone with a gentleman, was alone with one now. She knew she should leave, but the truth was that she had come here to play billiards. She was quite disappointed that she wouldn’t have the opportunity to do so—because of his presence. He did little more than constantly bring disappointment into her life. “I hear that Lord Wexford is quite put out with you.”
    He shoved himself to his feet. In the shadowed room, he seemed larger, broader, more devastatingly handsome. “Facing his wrath was well worth the dance.”
    “Who do you think he thought he was going to meet?” she asked.
    Chetwyn leaned his hip against the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “I haven’t a clue. You seem to know more about the gossip than I. Who do you