Kissed at Midnight Read Online Free PDF

without recalling the image of
his chest and those ripples that led down his stomach, or that slight
scattering of dark crisp hair that covered his chest. And the little path of it
that vanished into his trousers.
    “Oh dear,” she murmured to
herself. How did she get herself into these situations?
    Sucking in a long breath,
she drew her shoulders straight and headed back to her room. He wouldn’t
remember. Tomorrow they would be back to master and servant. She slipped into
the cool, crisp sheets of her bed and sighed. If only she could forget so
easily...

Chapter Four
    Who had filled his mouth with sand? August rolled over
and groaned to himself as his head pounded. Dragging open his eyes, he peered
at the bleary light creeping in through the gap in the curtain. His head
thumped some more when he rolled onto his back and peered up at the burgundy
canopy above him. What had he been thinking drinking so much?
    He tested the dryness of his
mouth again, feeling his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth, and transferred
his gaze to the slit of light streaming onto his bed. Dust swirled in it and it
made his eyes ache, but he forced himself to stare until the pain retreated.
    Then he rolled the other way
and pushed himself up to pour a glass of water. He didn’t recall filling the
jug, but maybe he had not been entirely foxed when he had come in. Draining the
glass of water, he refilled it and took another few sips before swiping a hand
across his mouth. The thumping in his head refused to subside so he rested against
the headboard while the cool water trickled down into his belly.
    His gaze landed on his
waistcoat and shirt, discarded in a pile on the floor. August lifted away the
bedding and discovered he still wore his trousers. He smirked. He scrubbed a
hand across his face in an attempt to rub away the foggy haze.
    When had he last drunk so
much? He couldn’t recall. As a young apprentice probably. He supposed it being
his first night of freedom since adopting Elsie had meant he had indulged a
little too heavily. He certainly hadn’t meant to get thoroughly foxed.
    A sting in his hand drew his
attention to a small cut on it. He scowled and stared at the red mark for
several moments. He hadn’t been fighting at the club, he knew that much. He
saved his punches for the boxing ring. Damn, he’d intended to visit the boxing
club tonight. He’d never make it in the state he was in.
    Forcing his feet to the
floor, he pressed his toes into the thick burgundy carpet and drew in several
deep breaths before stretching his arms above his head and flexing them experimentally.
Yes, he’d definitely not been fighting. So how had he cut himself?
    He stared at his hand for a
few moments and memories of blue and white fragments flitted through his mind.
Blue and white...? “What the devil...?” He scrunched up his eyes then hauled
them open. “Bloody hell.”
    Miss Davis. She’d helped him
to bed. He’d broken a vase and he recalled being pressed against her now. He
considered his half-clothed state. She hadn’t undressed him, had she? No, he
didn’t believe so. He’d remember those hands upon him surely?
    “Bloody, bloody hell,” he
muttered.
    A vision of her in a white
chemise scalded his mind. If he thought about it carefully, he recalled her
lush dark hair in a thick braid over one shoulder with her curls tied around
her face in silly little bows. It had made her look youthful and wildly
endearing.
    And then... then what? She
had helped him to bed and... He shook his head. Surely not? His scalp tingled
in remembrance. He felt like she had touched him, that maybe he had touched
her. The scent of violets, the warmth of soft flesh.
    August pinched the bridge of
his nose. Whatever he had done, he had a few apologies to make. He only hoped
he hadn’t frightened her away and he’d be forced to find a new nursemaid.
    Grimacing, he forced himself
up. He didn’t do apologies well. Too used to defending himself, he