Rules of Surrender Read Online Free PDF Page B

back. In one small, neat earlobe, she saw a gold loop.
    She couldn’t have been more shocked.
    An earring. In his ear. Only low-class women and gypsies wore earbobs, and he was neither. Yet undeniably gold glinted in the sun.
    ”Come inside, you two,“ Adorna called gaily, her hand tucked into Lord Bucknell’s arm. ”Charlotte and I have been hours on the road, so we shall have tea.“
    Wynter padded behind Charlotte as she walked toward the door. His barefooted step whispered on the smooth, sunlit stone while appalled astonishment rioted through her mind. Had the Bedouins held Wynter down and forced the ring through his earlobe? Had they tortured him, withheld water, tied him to a camel? No Englishman would allow such a ring without extreme measures.
    Lord Bucknell and Adorna had entered the shadowy interior of the manor when Wynter stepped around Charlotte and bowed again. As he stood, again she saw that earring, and she realized: Perhaps he had been forced to accept the ring, but he was back in England.
    He didn’t have to wear it.
    Before Charlotte stepped into the manor’s long gallery, Wynter laid his hand on her arm and, when she halted, stepped close. His accent strengthened as he lowered his voice. ”Lady… Miss… Charlotte.“ He tried out each word as if confused, then smiled in delight, a stranger of obnoxious seductiveness. ”Lady Miss Charlotte, in all fairness I must inform you—I did not bring Lady Howard’s hand to my cheek, for I am not interested in the sensation of her touch on my skin.“
    Without a thought to the Governess School, to civility, to the respect due a man society deemed her superior, she drew herself up to her full height and haughtiness and stared right into his impudent, mocking face. ”In all fairness, Lord Ruskin, I must inform
    you —I am not interested in the sensation of your touch on my skin, and if you imagine part of my duties to be to suffer such a touch, tell me now so I may catch Skeets and have him transport me back to London.“
    CHAPTER 4
    By the dunes, Lady Miss Charlotte Dalrumple was a fierce little thing! Wynter quite enjoyed the frosty bite of her glare and that ruffled indignation. Lady Miss Charlotte—how it amused him to call her that!—was passing every test.
    ”My lord?“ she snapped, not backing off, although he towered over her.
    Smoothly he stepped back and offered her an obeisance. ”All shall be as you wish, oh sunshine most brilliant.“
    Lord Bucknell harrumphed—something he’d done frequently since his arrival—and, when Wynter glanced his way, turned his gaze aside with so much obvious discomfiture he might have been interrupting a prolonged session of lovemaking.
    Lord Bucknell did not approve of Wynter. But this was Wynter’s home. Wynter was not the one on trial here. With the impassivity he’d learned at Sheik Barakah’s side, Wynter inclined his head to Lord Bucknell and gestured for Charlotte to enter. She hesitated, perceiving the risk she took by accepting his offer of shelter and sustenance. But with their stifling clothing and hypocritical decorum, his English countrymen at-tempted to cloak the basic, primitive urges. Urges that drove a man to master and protect an unclaimed woman.
    Because Charlotte had been raised with, and believed in, that travesty of civilization, she failed to heed the cry of her instincts. She stepped over the threshold into his home.
    Her naiveté made him chuckle, and at the sound she looked back at him. Their eyes met.
    Her eyes widened and lit that smooth, cool face.
    Then Adorna called, ”Come in, Charlotte.“
    Deliberately, Charlotte turned her gaze from his and sank back into the artificial safety created by her beloved culture.
    And, he admitted grudgingly, if she became his children’s governess, she was safe. It did not matter that he looked at her prim-pressed lips and carefully trussed body and wanted to open them both to his mouth and his body. He’d been long without a woman, but