The Earl in My Bed: A Forgotten Princesses Valentine Novella Read Online Free Page B

thing under the umbrella of foliage.
    He assessed his surroundings. The copse consisted of four or five trees hugged close together. A giant oak, too large for him to even wrap his arms around, loomed like a parent over the others.
    He approached, contemplating settling his back against it, when a figure stepped out from the other side of it.
    Deep brown eyes blinked at him in surprise. A surprise that only mirrored his own.
    Paget peered up at him. “My lord . . .”
    “Miss Ellsworth. What are you doing here?”
    She lifted a slim gloved hand, her voice lifting above the patter of rain. “I imagine doing the same thing you are . . . s-seeking shelter until the rain dissipates.” Her teeth chattered, a testament that not only was she wet but cold.
    The hem of her cloak—and what he could detect of her dress—was muddied almost to the knees. With her hood pushed back, the ties pulled at her throat, reddening her flesh. He imagined the hood was heavy from rainwater.
    “I would offer you my coat, but I feel it is as wet as your cloak.”
    She shook her head. “Quite right, but I thank you for the thought.”
    “You are welcome.”
    An awkward silence sank between them as the words of their polite exchange faded.
    Wild strands of hair spilled loose to frame her face. Wet as it was, the pale hair appeared almost brown. She was a mess and seemed to know it. Her hand patted at her hair as if that would help tidy the damage. Her dark eyes darted from him to the ground and back again. As if she did not know quite where to look.
    It wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed her in a state of disarray. This was the Paget who climbed trees with Owen. But she’d been a girl then.
    She was no longer that barely-out-of-the-schoolroom girl he’d last seen. She was a woman now and a feast for his eyes. His gaze strayed to the gentle swell of breasts pressing against the wet bodice of her dress. Gooseflesh puckered the milk skin there. His body immediately responded. His cock stirred against his trousers. With a mental curse, he jerked his gaze out at the horizon. The branches hung low, obscuring anything above shoulder-view and granting him only a limited glimpse of the landscape.
    He inhaled deeply. They were well-shrouded from the world. Not that there was likely to be any other passersby even if they were not. Not in this storm. A fact that filled him with apprehension. He was alone, isolated with the first female to rouse his interest since returning to England.
    Her soft voice stroked his frayed nerves. “I was warned that it would rain—”
    “And still you decided for a stroll?” he countered, his voice sharper than he intended.
    He had not anticipated another encounter with her so soon. After the last, she’d found her way into his thoughts far too often. If he wasn’t careful he might form an attachment. Unacceptable, that. She belonged to Owen. She always had. And when he returned home there would be nothing to keep them apart. No war. Not the span of a continent. And certainly not him.
    The color rose in her cheeks. “As did you,” she replied hotly.
    “I set out at dawn with no notion that the weather would take such a turn. You’d do well to take care of yourself lest you hope to sicken.” He snorted. “Wouldn’t that be some tragic irony? Owen returning home to an ailing . . .” His voice faded as something flashed in the dark of her eyes.
    She angled her head to the side. “An ailing . . . what?”
    Precisely. What term could he apply to her? He shook his head and looked out again at the water-washed land.
    He felt her step closer. “Pray continue. What were you going to say?”
    “Do I need to say it?”
    “I wish you would.”
    He whipped his head back to stare down at her. The sight of her gleaming dark eyes—always a bit otherworldly even when they were children, like a beast of the forest thrust amid mortal man—only managed to infuriate him more. It was her eyes he remembered most.