St. Raven Read Online Free PDF

take steps. Tie you up, perhaps. Or,” he added, “tie you to me.”
    Those eyes swept to her breasts. She glanced down. Her too-large-for-fashion bosom was rising and falling with her agitated breaths. In the low evening dress that Crofton had insisted upon, they were highly exposed. She remembered the duke putting her earrings and the money down there. She raised her hand there to shield herself and felt the notes crackle.
    She swallowed and met his eyes. “I am barefoot and heaven alone knows where, Your Grace. I will not leave until tomorrow.”
    “It
is
tomorrow. You will not leave until we have breakfasted and discussed matters.”
    She hated to be given orders, but she said, “Very well.”
    “Your word of honor?”
    She hesitated again, but only in awe of being asked for it. “My word of honor.”
    “Come, then.” He stood, took his branch of candles, and led the way out of the room to the one next door. It was only then, eye-to-back, that Cressida realized that he might have sat down to give her the height advantage.
    Could she believe he’d do something so understanding, so thoughtful?
     
Chapter Three
     
    The new bedroom was identical to his except that the hangings were a dull blue. Her sense of the house was that it was a modest country manor—strange for a duke. Borrowed for villainy?
    He lit the single candle there. “The servants are all asleep. I’ll bring you what’s left of my washing water. The bed has not been aired, but it is summer.”
    She almost giggled at his concern about these housewifely matters. For her part, she didn’t care. Sleep was creeping over her like an invader, dragging down her lids. “It will do.”
    “I’m next door if you require anything.”
    That was not housewifely. A quirk of mouth and brow gave it a naughty spice.
    A rake, she remembered when alone. The Duke of St. Raven had the reputation not only of being wild, but of being a promiscuous lover, as well. Her friend Lavinia had a brother who gossiped to her, and of course, Lavinia shared the juicy stories.
    The duke held wild parties. Parties for gentlemen and whores. Apparently there were Cyprian balls, and he was a notable attendee.
    When he returned with his water jug and towel, she watched his every move. But he simply put the items down and returned to the door.
    Ah well, she was hardly the sort to drive men wild with lust, and anyway, as she’d thought, the last thing the duke would do would be to assault a decent woman.
    He paused at the door. “My servants are discreet, but not saints. What will happen if word gets out that you stayed the night here?”
    Sheer mischief made her say, “We’d have to marry?”
    She saw his eyes grow wary, and felt a barrier rise between them.
    “I’m sorry. I assure you, I have no wish to trap you into marriage, Your Grace. In fact, the name I gave you is false, so there is no danger.”
    The barrier thinned. “Wise woman. All the same, stay out of sight. I’ll bring your breakfast—giving due warning so you can dress, of course. Which reminds me…”
    He left again. She waited, hugging herself against the special chill that comes in a sleepless night.
    He returned and tossed a crimson-and-gold garment on the bed. “Sleep well, Miss Nymph. We’ll talk in the morning.”
    The door closed, leaving her in the silent room lit only by the one, wavering candle. A key stuck out of the lock on her side of the door, but she resisted the urge to turn it. A locked door wouldn’t keep him out, and she was sure he wouldn’t invade.
    She picked up the garment—heavy, sinuous silk. A man’s robe in a rich paisley pattern. She brought it to her face and smelled sandalwood again. She thought that sandalwood would remind her of this night all her life.
    Now, alone, Cressida found it impossible to simply climb into the impersonal bed. Despite weariness itching at her eyes and aching in her joints, how could she surrender to sleep here in the rakish duke’s house? She was