The Corrupt Comte Read Online Free PDF

wherein she missed the heat from his body but gave the door a longing glance as she tugged in vain at her captured wrists. The knots he’d tied so efficiently, combined with the heft of the shelf at her back, held her hostage.
    He returned to stand far too close for Claudia’s peace of mind, yet did not touch her. The comte reached past her, setting the brass-and-glass lamp on the shelf behind her head to bathe them in warm yellow light.
    His eyes were blue.
    Except not quite. Blue muddled through with green, the changeable color of a wave-tossed sea. Long gold-tipped lashes fringed his inquisitive gaze, matching the tawny strands the lamplight revealed in his hair. She saw so much of him now—too much. The faint line between his brows, the hint of a shadowed cleft at his chin, the grooves that deepened at either side of his mouth as he studied her.
    She stared up at him, memorizing this face, his face, so she would know never to trust it. If she saw him in a ballroom, she would flee to its other side. If he sat ensconced in a parlor she entered, she would exit it forthwith. Should he ever possess the arrogance to ask her to waltz with him, she would stomp on his toes as often as possible until the violins ceased their plaintive one-two-three masterpiece.
    The thought drew her gaze to the floor between them, and all plans to trod on the comte ’s toes fell by the wayside. His shoes were the most beautiful heeled creations she’d ever seen: pure white with blue satin trim at the heel and large hexagonal silver buckles, in the center of which resided a tiny purple orchid, likely constructed of bent wire wrapped in silk embroidery thread.
    Oh, but he had the most excellent taste. She’d never seen a man wearing such lovely footwear before, and the artisanship and obvious expense was enough to make her mouth water with acquisitiveness. His shoes put her own to shame—her entire shoe wardrobe, in point of fact.
    Who was this man?
    When she looked up again, his eyes were no longer a simple amalgam of blue and green but a vibrant teal, two lost jewels in a cavern off the sea, glittering in the seeking beam of a pirate’s lantern. And while she didn’t trust the gleam in those eyes, a small part of her—a part so small that the Claudia with normal aspirations of a husband, a house and a family could very easily deny its existence—wanted to see how brightly his eyes could shine.
    “Teach m-me.” The words escaped before common-sense Claudia could rein them in. “Teach m-me how to p-please him.”
    Those eyes flashed. “First, you say why you want him. Then I teach you.”
    “I…” How much could she tell him, a stranger? Would he even be a stranger, when all was said and done?
    “Confess, chaton , and I will provide an education.” He planted his hands on either side of her head, gripping the edge of the shelf, the lace at his cuffs capturing her attention as it fell away.
    She twisted to stare at the wide-palmed, long-fingered hand scant inches to her left. The lamp’s light danced over the geography of his knuckles and down to highlight an intricate web of…of scars. Scars that crisscrossed his swarthy skin, and a glance to his other hand showed the same evidence of pain long past.
    Incredible, scar-inducing pain.
    Trepidation slithered down her spine as her gaze clashed with his. She didn’t ask what caused his scars. He didn’t offer an explanation.
    Her stomach clenched as she took a fortifying breath, logic slowly creeping back. He’d said he was Sabien’s friend, and as Sabien’s friend, the comte had the power to influence the man she needed to wed. She had already thrown caution to the wind to follow Sabien into the parlor, knowing in the back of her mind that this sort of ruination had always been a possibility. And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad—maybe the comte would leave her reputation intact. Maybe, when this momentary lapse in judgment had drawn to a close, Claudia could properly snare