“You were exhausted. And if I recall your mood was rather foul.”

Her head tilted back as his lips traced the line of her jaw. Oh, Lord…this was dangerous. So terribly dangerous. How could she recall that she was furious with him when her body was melting with pleasure?

“Well, you might as well become accustomed to my foul mood,” she forced herself to mutter. “Being kidnapped and blackmailed tends to sour a woman’s disposition.”

His hands skimmed down her sides, moving to jerk open the cloak. “Perhaps I can improve it.”

“Not bloody likely,” she breathed, but she made no effort to halt him as his lips moved to capture hers in a kiss that made her head spin.

Over the past few days she had managed to convince herself that she had merely imagined the power of his touch. Her night with him, after all, had been her first real taste of passion. What woman would not remember it as being far more spectacular than it truly was?

But now she was forced to admit that she had imagined nothing. His lips were just as warm, just as deliciously experienced as she recalled. And the dark wave of longing just as irresistible.

His fingers had found the ribbons of her shift when there was a sudden pounding on the door. They both froze, Philippe muttering a string of Portuguese curses.

“Go away,” he at last called.

“The clothes have arrived, sir,” came the muffled reply. “You said as how you wanted them brought up straight away.”

For a moment the leanly beautiful face tightened, and Raine was certain he would send away the intruder. Then, with a sigh he pulled back and tucked the cloak around her with a wry smile.

“So I did. I must have been out of my wits,” he said.

Brushing his lips over her forehead, Philippe turned and moved to pull open the door. He had barely managed to step aside when the innkeeper, along with two burly grooms, entered, all three of the men burdened with a vast number of boxes.

“You may place them on the bed,” Philippe commanded.

“Aye, sir.”

With a minimum of fuss the various packages were spread over the bed and Philippe was handing each man a coin as they offered a bow and left the room.

Raine barely noticed their departure as she absently crossed toward the bed and reached out to touch a silver ribbon tied around one of the elegant boxes.

“These…” Her throat seemed to close and she was forced to clear her throat.

Philippe moved to stand beside her. “What is it, Raine?”

“These are all for me?”

He brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek. “Why do you not open them and discover for yourself?”

She hesitated a long moment as she studied the vast pile of packages. They were beautiful with their bows and ribbons. A shimmering enticement for a maiden who hadn’t received a gift since she was six years old.

Oh, her father would occasionally offer her a handful of coins to spend as she wished. And Mrs. Stone always knitted her mittens for Christmas. But this…

It was a temptation she simply could not resist.

Ignoring the tiny voice in the back of her mind that whispered the road to ruination was no doubt littered with such lovely temptations, Raine reached for the closest box and tugged aside the silver bow to pluck off the lid.

Her breath caught as she pulled out the velvet evening gown that was a beautiful shade of bronze with embroidered lace around the scooped neckline and the full hem. Included in the box was a pair of matching bronze gloves, a pair of delicate slippers and an ivory shawl with gold thread.

It was a stunningly beautiful gown. The sort of gown that she could never have dreamed of possessing.

With an odd sense of unreality, she began to open the remaining boxes. There were more evening gowns in silk and Turkish satin, as well as morning gowns, carriage gowns, a lovely velvet cape lined with fur, several bonnets, gloves and pretty kidskin boots. He had even thought to provide several shifts, corsets and stockings.

A gentleman who clearly was accustomed to procuring garments for women, she wryly thought.

Still, whatever his nefarious past, she had to admit that he had exquisite taste. The clothes were magnificent and thankfully not at all what she had been expecting.

Tags: Rosemary Rogers Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net