Angel In My Bed Read Online Free PDF Page A

him reared its head. “Just take the damn cloak,” he said, brushing aside her hand as he worked the clasps at her neck, attempting to discard the sudden surge of his emotions. “It’s too cold. You need it more than I do.”
    Her eyes locked on his, and his hands stilled.
    His gaze slid up from her wind-reddened mouth to swim in her eyes, and he fought the pull to touch his lips to hers, the travesty of his position mocking him.
    He could not have foreseen her effect on him, could not have realized how much he wanted to touch her. To hold her. Still.
    He could never allow himself to forget what she had done to his life, or that she was wanted for treason and murder. He could not forget why he was here. Indeed, their past marked them both, and it would never allow him to make the same mistake twice in one lifetime.
    â€œThank you,” she murmured, “for the wrap.” Her chin lifted as if in a show of strength. But she was not all of a piece and faltered.
    He hated that he cared. One arm under her knees, the other beneath her shoulders, he lifted her against him.
    He hated that even after everything that had gone before them, he still mourned her. For in his heart, Meg Faraday had died on that steamer nine years ago. She had been correct about that. And he had never stopped thinking about her. Or forgotten how much he had loved her. “Don’t thank me foranything,” he said, his eyes steady on the path as he felt her head loll against his shoulder.
    For Meg Faraday would never be free again.
    Â 
    Victoria awakened groggy and sore in a warm bed. Turning her head, she peered at a fire crackling from the hearth. The rococo-style bedstead where she lay was half-hidden beneath gold velvet hangings that dominated the room. Her gaze moved over the well-appointed chamber, then followed where her senses led to the pillow beneath her head, last night’s memory cascading over her. No matter the years past, she would recognize David’s scent beneath the spicy soap he used. She was in his room.
    His bed.
    Confused and struggling to her elbows, she tried to separate the calm logic from the cloud that had settled in her throbbing head. She wore nothing beneath the sheets except a bandage that wrapped her ribs.
    No wonder she could barely breathe. She must have cracked her ribs when she tumbled from the horse. And he’d drugged her, she realized as her fingers tested a bruise on her temple. She could taste laudanum and feel its liquefying effects on her muscles.
    Daylight slivered through a crack in the drawn drapes. Moving to the edge of the mattress, she sat up, but didn’t wait for the room to quit spinning before dragging a blanket off the bed. The room gliding through her senses, she staggered for balance, determined only to reach the door. And run.
    â€œI wouldn’t go out there if I were you.”
    She whipped around at the sound of the familiar masculine voice. David stood framed in the dressing room archway,shrugging into a shirt, acting as if she were a paramour he’d left in his bed. Her heavy-lidded gaze roamed up his arms, encompassing the pull of white fabric against his shoulders as he tended to his buttons, his movements no longer casual as she met his gaze and, for a moment, neither moved.
    He had shaved—she could smell his soap permeating the air. She blinked to clear her head, for what she had seen in the darkness behind his beard last night could not compare to his clean-shaven countenance now.
    David Donally was undeniably the most attractive man she had ever known. And still was. The stark white cloth of his shirt contrasted with his coffee brown hair, cut short at the nape. Shorter than he used to wear it. Black trousers shaped his long legs and tucked into high riding boots adding another inch to his imposing stature.
    He was her husband.
    And she hated him.
    Yet, even after all these years, she was aware of him in a way she remembered. The