Just One Kiss Read Online Free PDF Page B

longest. It was unbelievably smooth and unblemished. He had the strangest urge to reach out and stroke the girl's cheek, to see if it was as soft and creamy as it looked…
    He'd done it again, he realized. Why did he persist in thinking of her as a girl, when she was hardly that? Perhaps it had been something in her wide-eyed, almost pleading expression when she'd discovered he wasn't Nathaniel, for indeed, she was hardly so very young—he guessed in her early twenties.
    His gaze wandered further, lingering on the thrusting roundness of her breasts beneath the satin coverlet. He'd stripped her of her petticoats and stays before Stephen arrived. She was clad only in her chemise. Though she was tall and slender, her body was full and ripe and womanly. Impersonal as he'd been, it was impossible not to be aware of her warm sensuality.
    Ah, yes, she was a lovely one—if one cared for blondes, which he definitely did not. He'd found most were generally too insipid for his tastes, often with personalities to match.
    She stirred then, a fitful toss of her head upon the pillow. Morgan bent low, for a breath of sound escaped her lips… a word… ?
    A name.
    Nathaniel.
    Morgan straightened. His thoughts were firmly unrelenting as he spun away. Whoever this woman was, he didn't appreciate her presence here in his household. Yet here she was, a reminder he could hardly ignore—a reminder of all that was best left alone.
    But he would do all he could to ensure that she was given the best of care. With luck, she would soon be well on her way to recovery, for he was determined to send her packing as soon as she was able.
    She moaned, drawing his gaze back to her despite his best intentions. As her fingers curled around the edge of the counterpane, he caught the glint of gold. His eyes fastened on the source.
    A gold band circling the third finger of her left hand.
    A vile curse erupted. Christ! What the hell had Nat done now? Morgan balked at the obvious. Nat could barely keep himself out of trouble. God forbid he'd taken a
wife
!
    Damn! he thought, striding from the room, furious all over again.
Damn
! Why was Elizabeth Stanton here? And what was her connection with Nathaniel?
    He had the feeling he wouldn't like the answer.
Chapter 3
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    For Elizabeth, the next few days passed in a haze of pain and the strangest sense of unreality. Yet deep in the foggy recesses of her mind, she knew she was wretchedly ill. A smothering heat enshrouded the whole of her body. Her head throbbed and every breath seemed to drag at her insides. She was hazily aware of tossing and crying out, of being urged by an unfamiliar voice to sip and drink. Often there was a hand at her brow; a damp, blessedly cool cloth ran over her neck and shoulders. Voices swirled all around her.
    Then one day, she became aware of bright sunlight trickling directly through the window before her. Wakefulness returned in slow degrees. She tried to turn her head against the brightness, but there was no escaping it. She knew from the murmur of voices that she was not alone. She wanted to protest that something was wrong—in both the London town house and her room at Hayden Park, the window was angled behind the head of her bed.
    She let her hand fall against her eyelids. "The light hurts," she muttered.
    Full, throaty laughter sounded above her. "Well, now, I'm glad to see you're back with us again."
    The voice was a stranger's. Bewildered, Elizabeth opened her eyes to find herself being scrutinized by a man with thick, chestnut hair and twinkling, golden eyes almost the same color as his hair. A part of her recoiled in horror—she was hardly accustomed to men in her bedchamber! To make matters worse, he sat in a chair scant inches from the bed in which she was lying.
    "Wh—who are you?" The voice that emerged was nothing like her own. It came out a dry, rasping croak.
    The man chuckled. "I'm Dr. Stephen Marks. I've been taking care of you the past few days." He tipped