Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

“Show me,” he demanded.

“I don’t think—”

“Which shoulder?”

Francesca sighed. “The left.”

He began to peel down the coverlet with quick, impersonal movements. She was still dressed, of course, so then he moved to the back of her, and started unfastening the long line of buttons. About halfway down he had enough slack to draw the garment over her left shoulder and down her arm, so that he could examine her for any injury.

Francesca was still shivering. She supposed she should be horrified at her situation, and his actions, but she’d gone beyond horror. All she wanted was to be warm again.

“You have the beginnings of a fine bruise,” he said levelly. He stroked her skin lightly with his fingertips. “Can you lift your arm?”

She did so, carefully. He grasped her elbow through the woolen cloth and manipulated it in a professional manner. “No pain?” She shook her head. He rewrapped her in the cover, leaving her dress half undone. “I have some brandy here somewhere,” he said, moving away.

“I hate brandy.” She crept closer to the fire, holding out her hands. A long, wet strand of hair fell forward. “Mr. Thorne…”

“Sebastian,” he corrected her, finding the brandy and uncorking it. “I think we’ve gone beyond formalities, don’t you?”

“What are you doing here? Why did Jed want to harm you…us? I don’t understand.”

He handed her a glass with a bare inch of liquid in it. “Adventures don’t always make sense,” he said, and took a swig out of the bottle with his eyes closed and his head tilted back. When he looked at her again, the firelight flickered on his face, making shadows. She thought how strange it was that she should feel as if she knew him so well, when she didn’t know him at all.

Why, he could be a…a highwayman, and she could be a tavern wench. He might find her alone in his room, and before she knew it…She swallowed and tried to halt her imagination before it led her into danger.

“Why did Jed want to kill you?” she repeated. “Are you from Scotland Yard?”

He smiled. “No, I’m not from Scotland Yard, although my profession is of a similar nature.”

“Your profession?” she said. Her clothes were beginning to steam and her hair to curl. Finally some warmth was starting to pierce her frozen state.

“I investigate. I find missing people. I solve mysteries.”

Her lips parted. “Oh?”

“I am here on a private commission.” Sebastian seemed to stop himself. He shook his head. “In a moment I’ll be telling you everything, and that wouldn’t be professional. But there’s something about you that makes me feel…safe, and that makes me think the situation is very unsafe.” He laughed softly.

The heat was making her sleepy, and her wet clothing was so heavy. She swayed, and Sebastian pulled the shabby armchair closer to the flames, and she sank into it with a sigh.

He was still musing. “If I we

re sensible I’d get as far away from you as possible, as soon as possible,” he said, bending to remove her sodden boots. “But I’m not feeling very sensible.” He tossed her boots over by the hearth, and stared down at her stocking-enclosed toes. “The truth is, I haven’t felt like myself since I first saw you.”

“You said this was an adventure,” she murmured, her eyes growing heavy. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such an—an interesting time. I don’t want it to end, either.” The coverlet slipped, and she saw his gaze go to her bare, rosy skin and the soft curve of her shoulder. He was looking at her, and she liked it. “This doesn’t seem real,” she said dreamily. “I feel like I can do whatever I wish.”

“What is it you wish to do?” He was holding her feet in his warm hands, the firelight behind him.

Francesca was feeling very peculiar. There was something about his eyes and his voice; she felt like a silly rabbit held by the eye of a snake, except this was a far more pleasurable experience. Pleasure, that was the word. Sebastian Thorne was a man who could give her unlimited pleasure, and he fascinated her and frightened her at the same time. Or perhaps she was more frightened of herself.

What was it like to kiss a man like this? In her life she had kissed, of course she had, but usually bumbling boys who slobbered on her cheek before she pushed them away. She’d never let herself imagine how it must feel to kiss a real man, an attractive man, and one she was attracted to. She had been too afraid she might not be able to stop.

But now here he was, the man of her dreams, and suddenly desire outweighed fear. Impulsively she threw her arms about his neck and placed her lips on his.

Surprise gave way to passion. He grasped her roughly in his arms, and he was strong. Lovely. She felt caught up in something she mightn’t be able to stop and she was afraid, but only for a moment, before his mouth proceeded to plunder hers.

An explosion of sensation. Her sense of touch and taste and smell were all focused on him. There was no escaping this, and she didn’t want to.

Francesca groaned beneath his mouth.