His Dark Obsession Read Online Free Page B

sharp, defined edge of her jaw, the curve of her cheek, the blue tint of her lips… the blue tint of her lips?
    “My god!” Pierce rushed forward as Sarah collapsed.
    On bended knee, he captured her in his arms before she hit the floor. Despite the tense situation, he was assailed with a thousand sensations. How easily his strong arms wrapped around her tiny waist. The cool silk of her dress. The lavender scent of her perfume. The gloss of her sable hair.
    “What did you say her name was, Mrs. Needham?” demanded Pierce as he gently patted Sarah’s cheek in an attempt to revive her. The irony that one moment he wanted nothing else in the world than to hear her name from her lips only to be too enthralled in studying her to hear Mrs. Needham utter it was lost on him.
    “Sophronia,” answered Mrs. Needham.
    “Sarah,” responded Elma, who anxiously joined Pierce on her knees next to her friend.
    Pierce looked from one woman to the next as if they were both daft.
    “Dammit, women! What is the chit’s name!” he shouted. Pierce was becoming alarmed. It was apparent the woman was not breathing.
    “Sarah,” called out a small voice by the window. Pierce turned in that direction.
    It was Florence, looking pale and worried. “Her name is Sarah.”
    Pierce nodded his appreciation.
    Gesturing to Elma, he commanded, “You, fetch my walking stick.”
    “What should I do?” Mrs. Needham hovered over Sarah pulling at her lace handkerchief, despite her admonishments, she cared for the girl and was deeply shocked.
    “I’m sure you have smelling salts somewhere.”
    “I do! I do!” Mrs. Needham hurried off in a flurry, grateful to be useful.
    Florence remained still and mute.
    Elma returned from the entryway with his walking stick. Gently placing Sarah on the carpet, Pierce shrugged out of his frock coat and rolled it into a pillow to support her head. Grasping his walking stick, he separated the polished wood shaft from the silver handle, exposing a sharp dagger. Both young women gasped. Ignoring their reaction, Pierce grasped a handful of magenta silk material from the front of Sarah’s dress and violently slashed it with sharp point of the dagger.
    “Bloody corsets,” cursed Pierce as he raised his hand to apply the dagger point to the stretched silk between the whalebone reinforcement.
    “No!” called out Florence.
    Pierce turned in irritation.
    “This is no time for modesty. You can see she cannot breathe,” he ground out.
    Florence prevaricated. “I know. I know. I could unlace her from the back,” she desperately offered. “You don’t have to ruin the corset. You’ve already destroyed the dress!”
    Assuming his irritated growl was response enough, Pierce leaned over Sarah’s prostrate form, careful not to scratch the delicate golden skin he had only just admired, he placed the sharp blade against the corset and flicked it upward, cutting through the corset and chemise. He had to use more pressure than he would have liked. The material was surprisingly strong. Once he had enough of it cut, he forced both of his hands down between the materials and her skin.
    Distressed at how unnaturally cool her skin felt compared to the warmth of his hands, he redoubled his efforts. Fisting the material, he tore downward. Splitting the corset in two, exposing her breasts and stomach to his view. Now was not the time to appreciate her beautiful form.
    Time seemed suspended in the little parlor. No one moved. There was no sound. Not even the ticking of the Toscano mantel clock. Was it seconds? Minutes? A moment?
    Still no response.
    Pierce cupped the generous bottom curve of one full breast. Silently vowing this would not be the last time he laid eyes on her alluring charms. Ignoring the shocked gasps from the other women in the room, taking his forefinger and thumb, he harshly pinched one perfectly pink nipple.
    Sarah’s whole body jerked upwards on a racking breath. Pierce was there to catch her. Holding her close,