At Last the Rogue Returns (Avenging Lords 1)

His cock responded with a sudden jerk of excitement. “A gentleman would refuse, citing impropriety. But as a rogue, I can make no such claim.”

Miles gathered her into his arms. Lord, her limbs were icy cold. Ignoring the throb of arousal in his loins, he lowered her down into the warm water. She gripped his bicep, holding on to him until he released her.

“Oh, that feels so much better.” She swished water over her arms and shoulders. “There’s every chance I’ll catch a chill.”

“Would you care for a nip of brandy? The heat of it will warm y

our chest.” He needed an excuse to leave. The cotton material was transparent in the water. He could see every soft curve, could see the dark triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs. If he stood there any longer, she might notice the swollen length of his cock ready to burst from his breeches.

“Yes, I think a drop of brandy would be wise.” She leant back against the bathtub and ran her fingers through her hair as she tried to dry it with the heat from the flames.

“Then I shall return in a moment.” After he’d hit Dariell or taken himself in hand to ease the painful ache that went beyond the physical.

He did neither and went to fetch the bottle of brandy he’d brought back with him from London. He returned with the bottle and two tumblers. The sensual sight that met him almost made him drop the damn crystal.

The temptress stood in the bathtub with her back to him, the wet garment moulded around her buttocks as she fanned the front of her gown before the flames.

Miles cleared his throat.

Miss Lovell glanced back over her shoulder. “Oh, it occurred to me that this nightgown is the only item of clothing I have.”

“It will be hours before it’s dry.” An image of her curled naked in his bed flashed before his eyes. Good God, his mind was that of a rampant schoolboy. “What about wearing one of my shirts for the time being? It should reach your knees, and you need something dry.”

Miss Lovell patted the wet material. Did she not know the power she had over him? “Your shirt would serve me well, I think.”

“Then you must dry yourself while I attend to the matter.” The flimsy linen towel draped over the chair would barely cover her thighs. With a slight tremble in his fingers, Miles placed the brandy and glasses on the side table. He yanked the plush coverlet from the bed and held it up before her. “It’s already damp from your nightdress and so will suffice for now.”

He closed his eyes briefly while she stepped out of the copper tub, and then he shrouded her body in the burgundy bedspread.

“You need to hold it aloft like a screen,” she said with amusement. “So I can undress.”

“Of course. How foolish of me.”

It suddenly became difficult to breathe past the lump in his throat. He did as she asked, ignored the pounding of his heart as she fumbled about behind the makeshift curtain. When she clutched the edges and wrapped it around her body, Miles breathed a relieved sigh.

Leaving her to dry her body, he rummaged through the armoire and found a shirt. “It has been stuffed in a trunk for weeks. Due to the dire circumstances here, I’ve not had the luxury of having my clothes laundered.”

She turned to face him, one bare knee poking out of her shroud, her damp locks draped over one shoulder. “Have you had any luck hiring servants?”

“Not locally. No one wants to work for a devil. My butler and housekeeper went to work for my brother.” Indeed, Miles had told Mr Cardon not to approach them. It was better to begin again, start anew, with servants who knew nothing of his mother’s torment. “I hired replacements in London, along with a handful of maids and two footmen, but it will be another week before they arrive.”

Miss Lovell bit down on her bottom lip. “So you have plans to remain in Cuckfield?”

He’d planned to purchase a residence in London, to hound his brothers day and night, to make life so difficult they would have no choice but to flee. But now that didn’t seem as important.

“Potentially.”

His vague answer was met by a raised brow of inquiry. “Then you are still undecided.” It was more a statement than a question, and so he chose not to answer.

As she readjusted the coverlet, he glimpsed her bare shoulder, the skin as white and as delicate as porcelain.

“And what of you?” he asked, wishing she wore a chastity belt or something to protect her from a randy rogue-come-devil. “Will you return home tonight?” It was a ridiculous question considering the fact she had no clothes.

“No. I don’t think I can.” She shivered again. “Would you mind if I got dressed?”

“Not at all.” He welcomed it—dreaded it at the same time.

Miles handed her the shirt and held the coverlet up again to protect her modesty. She slipped into the garment and stepped around to greet him.