Her Only Desire Read Online Free

girls’ arms, trying to separate them.
    â€œLeave her alone!” Georgie shouted, shoving them away, but in their eyes, this was completely unacceptable.
    The brother of the dead man came over and gripped Lakshmi’s other arm, rebuking her in Bengali, reminding her of her sacred duty and trying to drag her back toward the fire, as though he would throw them both forcibly into the blaze before he would see the late family patriarch dishonored.
    â€œLet go of her!” Georgie pushed the man away with one arm and held fast to Lakshmi with the other. “Stay back! I’m not going to let you murder her!”
    â€œUngrateful daughter! Do not give in to this foreigner’s meddling! How dare you shame our family?”
    â€œFather, please!” Lakshmi wailed, struggling against her kin, jarred this way and that in the tug of war over her, but when the men began steadily pulling both girls back toward the fire, terror came into her large brown eyes. Now instinct took over, and the girl fought for her life.
    Georgie was having trouble drawing a simple breath, but she held onto her friend with both arms, sparing only a glance over her shoulder.
“Adley!”
    â€œI am here, Miss Knight! Hold on, hold on!”
    It was only a minute or two, but it felt like an eternity before her faithful, flaxen-haired suitor came barging into their midst astride his fine chestnut gelding, leading Georgie’s white mare by the reins.
    The tall stamping horses helped stave off the mob. Georgie pushed Lakshmi up into the saddle behind Adley.
    To her family’s fury, the Indian girl wrapped her arms around the Englishman’s slim waist.
    â€œTake her to my house! Go!” Georgie urged them, but Adley hesitated, eyeing the hostile crowd in doubt. “I’ll be right behind you!” She slapped the gelding on the rump to get them moving before the situation turned any uglier.
    In the next moment, Georgie sprang up onto her horse’s back. The white mare tossed her head, but one of Lakshmi’s kinsmen grabbed the bridle and would not let go, excoriating Georgie as a meddler, a pagan, and a few even less savory epithets. Well, the world had called her famous aunt worse—the defiant duchess had been dubbed “the Hawkscliffe Harlot” for her many scandals. Georgie was not about to be intimidated. “Let go of my horse!”
    They were closing in, rioting around her, and as her fear climbed, her difficulty breathing increased.
    â€œWould you like to go into the fire in her place?” the infuriated brother-in-law yelled.
    â€œDon’t—touch me!” As she fought them, she could hear her heartbeat thundering in her ears, her breath rasping in her throat, and in a flash, it brought back the long-forgotten, inward sound of panic.
    She had come to know it well as a child. Unable to gulp enough air into her lungs, a wave of lightheadedness washed over her, terrifying her with the fear of passing out and falling from her horse into the irate crowd.
    Suddenly, a towering Englishman exploded into their midst, driving the dead man’s relatives back.
    â€œStand down!” he roared, thrusting one arm out to hold the men at bay and blocking the others from getting at her with nothing more than a walking stick.
    Georgie’s eyes widened.
    The mob fell back before his furious commands for order, backing away from him as though a tiger had gotten loose in the market.
    As she regained her balance in the saddle, Georgie’s stunned gaze flashed over the magnificent interloper—all six-feet-plus of him—lingering briefly on the sweeping breadth of his shoulders and the lean cut of his waist.
    Moving into their midst with athletic elegance, a simmering cauldron of intensity, polished to a high sheen, he was crisp and formidable—lordly—from his sleek short haircut to his gleaming black boots. In terms of solid, unsmiling mass, the man was two of Adley, with