Seducing the Duchess Read Online Free PDF Page A

choked as she inhaled. She twisted her neck to look at him, but all she could see were the stark angles of his profile, and she focused on the aquiline jut of his nose. “A sheep?”
    “Yes, a metaphor for a woman led astray. A woman who, by the kind and gentle reprimand of her noble husband, might be brought back to the straight and narrow path.”
    She huffed. “If I am a sheep in your metaphor, then you must be—”
    “God,” he finished, his voice smug. And although she could not see it, she knew he was smirking.
    Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest—which was ridiculous, really, because not only could he not see her affronted expression in the darkness, but she was also lying down.
    “I presume by your silence you do not agree with my deified role?”
    “I think I’d rather go to hell than have you rescue me,” she said, then turned her back to him.
    Charlotte was all too aware that he lay not half a foot from her. If she reached out her arm, she would be able to touch him. And it was entirely possible that sometime during the night the space between them might diminish, and she might wake up in the morning with his leg thrown over hers, or her head pillowed on his chest.
    There was a reason Charlotte had not shared a bed with a man for three years. It was far too intimate.
    It only then occurred to her that they were sleeping in the same room—so caught up had she become in teasing and testing him that she hadn’t even inquired why she didn’t have a separate chamber. She could only assume he did not trust her to leave his sight.
    A quiet snore rumbled from Philip’s direction. Breathing a small sigh, Charlotte tucked her elbow beneath her head and counted as each second passed.
    After five minutes, she lifted herself inch by inch off the bed—first her head, then her arms, her torso, swinging her legs to the floor—until finally she stood, triumphant, her hands on her hips as she stared down at his sleeping form.
    Tiptoeing over to the door, Charlotte grasped the doorknob in her hand and—
    Nothing. It wouldn’t turn.
    She bent down to peer through the keyhole, to see if someone had locked the door from the hallway, and—
    She gasped as his hands wrapped around her elbows and pulled her upward. His breath ruffled her hair as he whispered in her ear, “Did you honestly think I would give you the chance to escape?”
    “I was going to find my room.”
    His thumbs caressed the sensitive skin on the inside of her arms. “You do not have a room. Come, Charlotte.” He trailed his fingers down to her hand, turning her around. “We are husband and wife. We do not need two rooms, do we?”
    She shivered at his unwelcome touch. “You bastard.”
    His soft chuckle was as deep and dark as the devil himself. “It’s been quite a long time since I’ve heard that word from your lips, my dear.”
    She ripped her hands from his hold. “You were never around to hear me say it. If you had been, you would have heard that and much, much more.”
    “Forgive me. The thought of searching every home in London to find my wayward wife did not appeal to me. Besides, I’ve never been too fond of an overcrowded bed. When I wish to slip between a woman’s thighs, I don’t want to find another man already there, having his turn.”
    Her palm cracked against his cheek, the sound as sharp as the pain in her chest.
    Philip caught her arm when she would have dropped it to her side, and her heart drummed an accelerated staccato at the silver flash of his eyes. But he only raised her hand to his mouth, his lips brushing over her knuckles in a light caress, as if they were a gentleman and a lady meeting for the first time at a crowded London soiree.
    Except they were alone, and she wore no gloves to protect her from feeling the warm strength of his hand, the firm, hot, velvet pressure of his mouth against her skin. And God help them, because they both knew he was no gentleman, and she was certainly not a