The Thirteenth Earl Read Online Free

suggested her curves, falling over them. All it would take would be one good grip on the hem and he could . . .
    “Lord Thaxton.” Miss Seton had her hand on her hip. He refocused his eyes to find her blushing most charmingly. “I asked if you had ever heard anything like that before. The noise.”
    Damn. He shook himself internally. He should have thought to bed a woman before leaving London—his urges were going to run wild in a secluded estate filled with women. Or, were he to be honest, this particular woman.
    “Not a noise like that,” he said. “I spent the majority of my childhood in this house, and I have heard many unexplained noises here—but never that. It sounded like crying. Mourning. Did it not?”
    “Exactly that. I was worried that someone was in danger.”
    “Yet the house is still.”
    “Quite.”
    For some reason, that particular alchemy of words stole the rest from the both of them. Thaxton noted that hunger touched the edges of her cool gaze, even as he felt it heat the air around him. She closed the distance between them hazily, as if she were half-asleep.
    “We were imagining things,” he said, finding that he was peering down on her vexing face, far too close. She had very long eyelashes, a fringe he wanted to touch with his lips. He took a shallow breath, because a deeper one would cause their bodies to collide. “We should go to bed.”
    Her eyes widened. He had not meant to say it like an invitation, but it had come out that way.
    “Separately,” he clarified.
    She did not respond, for some reason. He shifted, wondering if he should look away. For an illogical moment, he thought she was waiting for him to kiss her. But that could not be; it was not within the realm of possibility for him.
    “Miss Seton?” he whispered.
    She tilted her head to the side and smiled. Though it was dim, he could see her looking at his lips. He was not imagining things.
    “Oh, hell.”
    The brandy pumping through his veins made the foolhardy act of pulling her into his arms easy. But next she would slap him and it would be over—surely that would be the outcome.
    “I will admit, I know what you are thinking,” he said, idly running a hand down her cheek to test her reaction. “Kissing you is a terrible idea. A wonderful and terrible idea. My favorite kind.”
    Was she ever going to talk? He ran a thumb over her bottom lip, trying to tease out a response. If she kept gazing as she was, all dreamy-eyed and hot, he would have no choice but to—
    Thaxton was absolved of completing the thought when she took his face in her hands and did what he had been waffling about.

Chapter Two
    Cassandra could not wait any longer. The more he talked, the more he made excuses for something they both wanted. She pulled his face down to hers, her fingers running through his scratchy beard. After all, it was just a kiss, she reasoned.
    Except when they entwined.
    Thaxton’s arms curled around her back, the heavy wool of his coat scraping the flimsy fabric of her nightgown. As much as he had been talking, he had also been thinking about an embrace, judging from the way he clutched her. He did indeed taste like brandy, but what was bitter in the glass was sweet on his soft lips.
    Mistake, she thought frantically. This is a mistake. It felt nothing like a lark, nothing like a last flight of fancy before she started her life as Mrs. Miles Markwick. She wanted to take it back, but his hand was on her head, fingers weaved in her hair, holding her fast. The only sound in the entire universe was his exhale.
    “Miss Seton,” he said, his mouth now behind her earlobe, his hair tickling her cheek, “you are so lovely. I wish it were not so.”
    She could not think of a reply, not through the shivers overtaking her.
    Thaxton resumed kissing her without further comment. She tried to match him but found that the force of it had stolen her senses. None among Amberson, Miles, or the random footman had been so assertive in his