An Accidental Seduction Read Online Free PDF

frazzled nerves. She inhaled deeply, glanced about, then lifted her skirts and executed a skittering little jig to accompany her tune.
    “Me lady.”
    Stifling a squawk, she swung about as someone stepped up behind her, but the villain was already laughing.
    “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Gallagher stood only a few feet away, eyes sparkling with mischief, one fist wrapped around a somewhat misshapen blade of twelve inches or so. “I apologize, I do.”
    Savaana pursed her lips and found Clarette’s persona with surprising ease. What did that mean exactly? “Oh?” she said, and arched a brow. “And do you always cackle like a laying hen when you feel badly about your conduct?”
    He chuckled again, reminding her that his laughter didn’t sound so much like a cackle as a bubbling fount of earthly pleasures. He had rolled his sleeves up well-muscled arms, and a slight sheen of sweat glistened where his kindly shirt lay open at the neck. “Please,” he said, wiping his brow with the back of a callused hand, “don’t quit your singing on me own account.”
    She raised her chin. “I was not singing.”
    “I heard—”
    “Incorrectly,” she said. “For I do not sing.”
    “What of dancing? Did I imagine that light little jig as well?” he asked, and laughed as she deepened her scowl.
    Dammit, she would have to be more careful about her conduct. “Tell me, Irishman, are you always so jolly as this?”
    “Only when I’ve had meself a bit of sport with me hammering,” he said, and slipped the incomplete knife into his boot. “A body should never be without a fine blade.”
    “So that’s what makes you giddy? Hammering steel?” She employed her snootiest tone, but his forearms were corded with taut muscles; she felt a little giddy herself.
    “Well, that, and accompanying a comely lass such as yourself.”
    “Accompanying…” she began, then understanding his meaning, deepened her scowl. “Surely you are not to be my companion.”
    “Think of me more as an escort.” He bowed again, making the neck of his tunic droop enough to show the taut muscles of his dark-skinned chest. Her attention dipped there. “At your service, me lady.” He straightened, and though she zipped her gaze instantly back to his face, his happy expression was already suggesting that he hadnoticed her wandering attention. For reasons entirely unknown to her, that obvious joy made her angry.
    “As it turns out…” she said, “I do not require your services.”
    His lips hitched up a roguish notch, making her wonder if there was something amusing about her phraseology.
    “Then you merely desire them?” he asked.
    She frowned as she tugged on her gloves. The black kid leather felt soft and warm against her skin, too warm for this weather, but years of study had taught her that what the gentry wore had little to do with need and more to do with…madness. Besides, it would be best not to call attention to the calluses that ridged the underside of her palms. “Unlike Gregors…” she said, tugging the frilly sleeves of her blouse out from under her sturdy jacket, “I have not found the Irish to be particularly good with horses.”
    Something sparked in his eyes. Anger maybe. Good. ’Twas far preferred to his irritating good humor. “Perhaps you have tangled with the wrong Irishmen, then,” he suggested.
    She gave him an arch glance as she reached for a quirt that hung on the wall nearby. It was three feet long and crafted of fine braided leather. She rather liked the feel of it, and smiled as she tapped it against the heavy fabric of her skirt. “As it is, I do not ‘tangle’ with the Irish at all.”
    “Then perhaps ’tis time ye did,” he said.
    She straightened her back, haughty as hell, disapproval seeping from every pore. “Might you forget that I’m a married woman, Mr. Gallagher?”
    “’Tis unlikely,” he said, and there was something in his voice. Something almost calculating, that caused her to