The Earl's Desire Read Online Free Page B

beat you again in your dream? Is that why you cried for help?”
    Christine just sat there, staring at him, dumbfounded. Well, what could she tell him? He wouldn’t understand she had actually dreamt that a big man was doing things to her that even she couldn’t begin to comprehend.
    “ Well?” he probed.
    “ I assure you, it was just a nightmare, Tyson.”
    He gave her a look that told her he didn’t believe her one tiny bit.
    “ You go back to bed. I’ll be just fine, and if I am in trouble, I’ll just ask you—how about that?”
    Tyson considered this for a few seconds and then nodded for he was getting rather tired. He moved back to his small bed. Christine sighed, and then she snuggled back beneath her blanket.
    Dear God, that nightmare still shook her. At least it was just a nightmare and not the real thing. Thank God! A few minutes later, she went back to sleep. This time, though, there was no nightmare, but a deep voice echoed in her thoughts : “You’ll be mine soon, very soon.”
     
    * * *
     
    Christine’s grandparents forced her to stay in bed for the next week. She found it rather hard to cope for she was usually a very active person, and staying in bed simply bored her to tears, and, more importantly, it gave her too much time to think. Most of the time she’d start thinking about the dream, and she didn’t want to think about it at all because it unsettled her. She kept having it every night, though not always the same one. She had decided that it must be due to the beating.
    The dream always started with him —this giant shadow of a man. He either cornered her or chased her, and when he captured her, he started touching her— everywhere —and then he started kissing her, too. She didn’t understand what it meant, but she knew that she was scared, and she was sure it would be very unpleasant if it was real.
    It was morning, and she had just woken up from the dream again, though she had not screamed like she did that first time. It had been a week since the beating, and Christine knew that her wound had been healing nicely. She had high hopes that because her wound was healing her dream too would stop. They were related, after all.
    She got up from the bed and slowly got dressed in her shabby breeches that had seen better days, the once snow-white shirt that now had turned a muddy color, and her one and only gray coat. Tying her curls at the nape with a thread of string, she made her way down the old, creaky stairs. As she landed on the last step, a voice said, “You shouldn’t be up and about, my dear. You are not yet well.”
    Christine knew her grandmother would say that, but she knew also that if she were to stay in bed another minute, she’d simply die of boredom. So she squared her shoulders and said, as she stepped into the room that served as both the kitchen and family room, “I know you worry, Grandmamma, but I—”
    She stopped short and stared at the handsome man sitting on the seat near the hearth. At night a week ago, she couldn’t see clearly what he had really looked like, but in daylight this man was simply too gorgeous for words. She could not seem to breathe at all as she stood there, staring at him in shock.
    “ Good morning, Chris,” came the deep voice.
    Christine couldn’t help herself and shivered all over. She licked her lips, blinked twice, and said, “My lord?”
    “ How is your wound, boy?” Merrick asked, his eyes warm as he watched her walk slowly into the room.
    Christine was very aware that he was examining her person—that her feet were bare and that she didn’t have her binding around her upper torso truly worried her. At least, she thought, she had her coat on, which helped a great deal to hide her femininity, and furthermore her breasts were not that bountiful, as her grandmother had said to her before when they had started to mature.
    As if his eyes didn’t humiliate her enough, he said, “Do you not have socks? You will catch your death of