Sinful Confessions Read Online Free PDF Page B

to reach the bottom of the stairs. She
offered him a shaky smile. Did he make her nervous? She hadn’t appeared one bit
intimidated by him earlier. That wasn’t really his intention. But neither was
wooing her, as Mrs Whittleworth hoped. Better that he set down some simple
rules and let her know that her stay was only going to be brief—just until he
could find someone to look after her outside of his house.
    “Good
evening,” he said hoarsely. If only it was anger making his voice sound as
though he’d been gargling sand. No, it was something much, much worse.
    Desire.
    He’d
long admired the Viola Thompson he knew on paper. He enjoyed her strong
opinions—a sharp contrast to his wives’—and her passion for England and its
history. But now he found himself admiring the reality of her. The rapid rise
and fall of her breasts against that neckline... Good God, he found himself
silently begging for one of those pert globes to escape the tight confines of
her bodice. Never had he been so enraptured by one movement of the body. Up and
down. Up and down. His pulse quickened in time with her breaths.
    Which
were incredibly rapid.
    He
dragged his gaze back up to her face, bracing himself for a look of disgust at
his far too obvious perusal of her. Instead she had a glazed look to her eyes.
    “Good...
evening...my lord.”
    His
brow furrowed. Though her hair was elegantly coiled into some hairstyle that
seemed to defy gravity and a touch of rouge enhanced her cheeks, her skin
appeared sallow. The tremor in her voice and the slight shake of her body made
his scowl deepen.
    “Is
all well?” He held out an arm, half-fearing she would collapse. Was she wearing
her corset too tight? His second wife had been a delicate sort and prone to
swooning after being bound in too much whalebone.
    She
nodded and took his proffered arm. If it hadn’t been for his concern, he might
have appreciated—or more likely been annoyed at—the way his skin pricked as her
delicate arm curled around his. As it was, he felt the slight weight of her
lean into him and it convinced him all was not well at all.
    “Miss
Thompson? Viola?”
    She
turned to glance up at him and the pull on his arm increased. It happened too
quickly for him to react properly. In a crumple of silk and petticoats, she
collapsed. He managed to prevent her from hurting herself with his hold on her
arm, but he hadn’t been fully prepared for the dead weight she would become,
and she ended up slumped against the marbled floor. Half-dragged down by her
hold on him, Julian came fully to his knees and turned her over.
    “Miss
Thompson?”
    Her
eyes were open but glassy. When he put a hand to her forehead, he found her
skin to be clammy. Her eyes fluttered closed and she gave a sigh. The woman was
unwell, and he had no idea how sick she might be. Had she contracted some awful
disease on the journey here?
    Julian
pressed an arm underneath her head and legs and lifted her into his arms. Now
he was ready for it, she seemed to weigh almost nothing. Viola remained awake
but docile, as though something was addling her mind. She burrowed against his
chest, resting just above his heart. That very same organ pulsed in response—a
deep, sharp spasm that said he enjoyed having a woman in his arms, trusting
him.
    He
took the stairs two at a time and strode through the central part of the house
to the west wing. There he installed her in the Sunflower room—so called
because of its position over the garden and the sunflowers that grew under the
window. Just as he was laying her down on the bed, Jenny scurried in.
    She
paused at the sight of her master leaning over Viola. “James said something
about Miss Thompson swooning, my lord.” She glanced at the bed. “Oh dear.”
    The
footman was almost right. “Not a swoon as such, but she has collapsed. She is
ill.” He eased to standing and eyed her. She gave a slight moan and rolled onto
her side. He skimmed his gaze over her body. It was no