The Marriage Bargain Read Online Free Page B

along her neck and arms, gently washing away the grime that stained her ivory skin. And every time his fingertips brushed the softness of her, he felt an infusion of warmth spill through his veins.
    She moaned and turned her head on the pillow.
    Beckett froze.
    She did not wake up. He grinned in spite of himself, and shook his head. It was terribly wicked, what he was doing… terribly wicked, indeed.
    Was it his fault that bathing a woman’s body could be so damnably diverting?
    Gently, he slid the cloth along her stomach, his groin suffusing with heat as he came to that secret place between her thighs. Oh, he had always loved that part of a woman. He had never understood why the women he’d been with had been so shy about that piece of themselves, why they had not been proud to possess such an instrument of exquisite beauty and pleasure. His hands came very close to her there as he smoothed the wash cloth along her hips and down the creamy skin of her thighs, and he found himself biting his lip to keep control. This bath alone was an exquisite torture.
    Then he came to her feet, and was sobered by their terrible state. He had to rinse the cloth many times before he’d removed the last of the dried blood and dirt.
    Beneath the filth, her feet were soft and dainty, though marred by shallow cuts. As he had suspected, these were not the feet of a guttersnipe.
    Questions turned in his head, quelling the desire that had begun to overtake him.
    Who was she? Could she be in danger?
    He turned to the end of the bed and reached for the blankets Hartley had brought. Finding a soft, thick one of virgin wool, he placed it on the bed beside her.
    Beckett slid his arm under her shoulders and lifted her, feeling his fingers brush the round underside of her breast as his hand reached around to grip her.
    It sent a tingle through his stomach.

    Pulling the blanket about the girl, he looked down at her face, and again felt that overwhelming need to protect her.
    Unable to resist any longer, he reached out to touch the perfect beauty of her face.
    As if to remind him of the late hour, a huge yawn came upon him. Reluctantly he lifted his hand from her cheek, and wiped his watering eyes. He checked her pulse, and felt the soft skin of her wrist growing warmer.
    Tomorrow he would tell her that a maid had undressed her. Of course, he didn’t employ a maid, but that was a minor point easily addressed.
    He yawned again and sat down on the other side of the bed. Where was he going to sleep tonight? Had he really intended to sleep in the sitting room, as he’d told Hartley? Alfred was in the Blue Room, and the other rooms weren’t prepared. He didn’t feel like waking his valet. The sofa in his sitting room would have to suffice.
    He crossed the chamber and beckoned to Monty. “Come on, boy.”
    Panting calmly, the dog showed no signs of movement.
    “Monty, come!” Beckett whispered. In response, the dog moved to the foot of the bed and flopped down on the floor.
    “So that’s the way it is, eh? One pretty face is all it takes to make you forget your master?”
    Monty raised his head and looked at Beckett, then laid it down again.
    “Alright, have it your way.” He took one candle and blew out the others.
    It was difficult to simply leave the girl there all alone in his bed. So, watching her through the golden haze of candle-light, Beckett quoted one of Mr. Shakespeare’s sonnets. ” ‘Is it thy will, thy image should keep open my heavy eyelids to the weary night?’ ” With one last look, Beckett closed the door behind him.
    He made his way toward the sitting room sofa, weariness dragging at him like a clinging child. Resting the candle on the table, he struggled to remove his boots, which hit the floor with a dull thud.
    He then stretched out on the firm sofa, and let sleep take him where it would.

Chapter Four
    Beckett rolled over, his eyes still closed. He vaguely remembered stumbling into his bed in the dark, wee hours of the