Bedding The Baron Read Online Free PDF Page A

different matter.
    Never in her six and twenty years had she been so vibrantly aware of a man. From the moment she had entered the foyer to see him standing beside the door she had felt as if she had been struck by lightning.
    A ridiculous notion.
    It was not as if he were any way out of the ordinary, she tried to tell herself, knowing even as the thought crossed her mind that she was lying.
    Granted the man was not the massive, intimidating sort that could fill a room with his presence. Instead he was only of medium height with the sleek muscles of a thoroughbred. But that face.
    Dear God, it surely did not belong on a mere mortal.
    It was not just handsome. That was too mundane a word. The delicately carved features, the shimmering grey eyes, and the lush lips were painfully beautiful. As if he were a creature of smoke and mist that might disappear at any moment.
    And his hair . . . his thick curls were not just a predictable blond or brown, but a rich, aged gold with streaks of amber.
    He was clearly created for the specific task of breaking poor women’s hearts.
    Still, she was never susceptible to gentlemen. Especially not those disgusting, loathsome toads from London.
    So why then was her back prickling with awareness as he moved to follow her far too closely? And why was her heart pounding against her chest with such force that it was a wonder the entire inn could not hear its frantic beat?
    She was merely tired, she attempted to soothe her troubled heart. With the sudden storm her small inn was filled to the rafters. It was only because most of her guests could not afford her most elegant suite that she even had space for the obnoxious London fop.
    A pity really. She would have loved to have turned him away at the door. Any fool who spent such an obvious fortune on something so ridiculous as his clothing deserved a good soaking. As it was, she could only hope his boots were smudged and scuffed beyond repair.
    Yes. With all the extra work it was little wonder that her weary brain was imagining all sorts of nonsense.
    That absolutely, positively had to be it.
    At last reaching the rooms at the end of the long wing, Portia pulled her heavy ring of keys from her pocket and unlocked the door.
    Stepping over the threshold, she cast a swift, critical glance about the bedchamber, careful to note that the windows framed by the blue velvet curtains had been recently washed and that the heavy mahogany furnishings glowed with a high polish.
    She moved aside to allow her guest to enter the room, an unconscious hint of pride squaring her shoulders.
    “Our rooms are not as large as some inns,” she said. “But the bedding is clean and the linens freshly washed. Through the far door you will find a small parlor that looks onto the woods.”
    That smile that could charm the birds from the trees curved his mouth.
    “Ah, a very nice port in the storm.”
    “Indeed.” She shoved a key into his hands. Regardless of the reasons for her odd reaction to this man, she was anxious to be away from the room. The flutters in the pit of her stomach and the sensation that she could not quite catch her breath were not at all comfortable. “Here you are. If you have need of a servant you need only pull the bell rope.”
    “And if I have need of you?”
    She assumed her most distant expression. The one that could wither the pretensions of the most hardened rake.
    “One of the servants will be up to light your fire and to bring your bath.” Her voice was coated with a thick layer of ice. “I assume you have luggage?”
    The damnable man dared to give a low chuckle, as if he were actually amused by her obvious set-down.
    “Your groom promised to attend to it,” he assured her.
    “Good.” She abruptly turned toward the door, not caring if it appeared she was in full retreat. The chamber suddenly seemed far too small. “If that will be all . . .”
    “What of dinner?”
    With an effort she forced herself to pause, although she refused to