Marissa Day Read Online Free Page A

was pale as if sculpted from marble, and as perfectly formed as man’s could be. Yet he was no idle dandy, for under his perfectly cut coat his body was hard and muscled. Her hands itched to touch his shoulders, to caress the planes of that chest so wellclad in silk and linen. She knew her fingers to be clever. She could make quick work of laces and buttons and push that cloth aside and . . .
    He turned toward her, one brow arched. A blush blossomed across Jane’s cheeks. He saw. He knew she had been staring. For the first time, Sir Thomas’s impeccable manners slipped ever so slightly and a smile that was both knowing and delightful spread across his elegant features. “And may I be so bold as to inquire what, besides myself, occupies these dreams?”
    Pleasure, pleasure from your hands, your body, your devilish words . . . Jane’s blush deepened.
    “I see,” Sir Thomas murmured.
    “Please.” Jane opened her fan once more and applied it in a futile attempt to cool her burning cheeks. “Let us say no more about it.”
    “We could do that,” he agreed. “If you wanted.”
    A fresh shiver shot down Jane’s back. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, do you want to say no more? Do you want me to go?” He gestured toward the stairs. “Or would you rather I stayed?”
    Jane found herself quite unable to breathe. She thought about the violet water in her reticule. She thought about the retiring room, the gardens, the refreshment room, anywhere she might get away from this man. But she didn’t move. “I could not say,” she whispered.
    “I think you could. What is more, if this were one of your dreams, I think you would.” Sir Thomas lowered himself onto the bench beside her, still keeping a polite distance. He could not accidentally touch her from there. It would have to be deliberate. He would have to reach out his gloved hand, lace his fingers between hers, guide her hand where he wished it to be, where she wished it to be.
    “But this is not a dream,” she reminded him, and herself. For if this were one of my dreams, I would kiss you here and now. I would beg you to hold me and to touch me in any way that pleased you. I would thrill to hear your voice urging me to bare myself for you.
    “No, it is the real world, and we walk in it, you and I.” His green eyes seemed darker now, and unfathomably deep. She could drown in those eyes. “So think carefully of what you say next. Send me away, and I will make my bow and go. But be aware, it is your choice.”
    The finality in his words tore at her thoughts. He meant it. If he went now, she would never see him again, in daylight or dreaming. Jane felt weak, as if all the blood had drained from her heart.
    There was no one to guide her, and no safe answer to give. There was only him, and her, and she could not trust either one. “What choice would you make?” Jane murmured.
    “I?” Sir Thomas said, as if surprised she would ask so simple a question. “I would choose to remain with you. I would especially choose to hear more about these dreams in which I am so prominent a figure.”
    Jane knew she should end this madness and tell this bold man to leave her alone. She was not the usual widow, free to kick up her heels as she chose. She had no money, no land, nothing except the income from her position. Her entire inheritance, including her widow’s portion, had gone to pay her father’s debts. If her reputation did not remain spotless, she risked her living.
    At the same time, it seemed unbearable that Sir Thomas should go.
    “Madame?” Sir Thomas whispered, his voice tender and filled with concern. “Lady Jane?”
    “Please stay.” The words came out as a tremulous whisper. She meant them with all her heart, but her heart was still afraid.
    Slowly, Sir Thomas reached across the distance between them and took her hand. His touch was as soft as his voice, and yet she could feel the warmth of him through the layers of their silken gloves. She looked into