The Trouble With Being Wicked Read Online Free Page A

Elizabeth and had her first good look at Lord Trestin instead.
    There was no mistaking her desire now. He was deliciously well-formed. Especially for a lord, the majority of whom, in her experience, tended to be either soft or reedlike. Not Lord Trestin. Broad shoulders tapered to a slim waist. If the hard curve of his thigh was any indication, he was solid muscle beneath his tight-fitting breeches. In other circumstances, she would have enjoyed having such a man tangle himself in her skirts.
    To be perfectly truthful, she did not much mind in these circumstances, either.
    He turned to Elizabeth and regarded her with chivalrous patience. “You look peaked. Wouldn’t you prefer to rest inside the carriage while Miss Smythe and I attend to the house? I should blame myself if you took ill.”
    He sounded so genuinely concerned—and they were so little accustomed to that—that a heartbeat thumped before either woman could form a response.
    “Please,” he said, sending shivers of want through Celeste’s belly. “Miss Smythe will be perfectly safe with me.”
    Unwanted shivers, that was.
    The initial surprise in Elizabeth’s widened gray eyes turned to just enough worry to be overdone. “I couldn’t possibly leave my companion in a compromising position. It wouldn’t be at all the thing.”
    Her implication that he had less-than-noble intentions drew Lord Trestin up in admirable affront. Except Elizabeth and Celeste were not who they claimed to be, which made the situation comical. He was in far more danger from Celeste than she was from him, for he was a gentleman. She was no lady.
    “I assure you, Miss Smythe is in no danger fromme,” he said again. Flags of color at the mere suggestion he had untoward thoughts brightened his tanned cheeks.
    Elizabeth turned to hide her smile. Celeste covered hers with a strangled cough. A rake he was not. But that wasn’t why she suddenly felt a need to put another few feet between them. It had been years since a man’s interest had evoked an authentic response in her. When his gaze fell on her as it did just then, she felt his stare down to her toes. Gooseflesh pebbled across her shoulders and down her arms, as if he’d physically touched her. A rush of longing familiar yet distant, like a forgotten memory, sped her pulse. But he glanced away without a care, not the least bit interested in what he saw.
    Dismissed? She could hardly believe her eyes. Did he not see the wantonness in her? Or wish to linger overlong on her form?
    Not that she wished him to, of course. Rather, not that she should wish him to.
    And yet, in other circumstances, he would be precisely the kind of man she would want in her bed. An aura thick with privilege exuded from him. From the velvety sheen of his coat to the leathery smell of his freshly polished Hessians to the perfectly tailored cut of his breeches, he looked every inch the part of a lord.
    Here in Brixcombe, a man like him was a nuisance. A distraction from her purpose: to leave all of that—the sex, the money, the long, lonely hours wondering if she would be visited that night—behind.
    “I can see you do suspect me of taking advantage of the situation,” he said in his smooth, cultured tones, sounding horrified by the thought. “Certainly, I’d never have suggested something so fast had I thought my offer through.”
    “Not fast, exactly,” Elizabeth said, her composure recovered. “We’ve the baby to consider. Surely you realize that it wouldn’t do to have impropriety lingering.”
    He nodded slowly, as though she’d struck a chord he understood. “Indeed. We must protect our families.”
    “It’s settled, then,” Elizabeth said. “Let’s find this tree that has Miss Smythe so incensed. I’m perfectly well able to walk a few feet, I assure you both.” She rubbed her hand over the bump of her belly.
    Lord Trestin visibly tried not to follow her motion with his eyes, but at the last second, his gaze darted. He inhaled