The Dangers Of Deceiving A Viscount Read Online Free PDF

grounds. She liked to walk—it cleared her head. Once she began to work, the Lord only knew when she might have another opportunity.
    Phoebe picked up her shawl and strode from the room.
    No one seemed to be about save a footman delivering coal upstairs. She stepped outside, gathered her shawl about her, and began to walk in the direction she had seen the viscount ride yesterday, around the corner of the house. The path diverged at one point—it looked as if it led to the stables on her left, but on her right the path went through a huge wrought-iron gate and into the most extensive parterres she had ever seen.
    She moved slowly, the train of her pale yellow morning gown pulling with the weight of the dew on her hem. The path led to another gate, beyond which was a lawn. There was not a sound, not even the smallest breeze. Phoebe detected the scent of water and fish and moved in that direction.
    The abrupt and disembodied snort of a horse frightened her out of her wits—it sounded as if it was almost on top of her. Phoebe stilled instantly, catching her breath to listen, to discern where it was. It was a moment before her eyes could focus in the mist, but she saw horses moving like ghosts just ahead of her.
    Phoebe slowly released her breath but remained perfectly still as she watched them, listening to the sound of grass crunching between their teeth. The heat of their bodies was dissipating the mist around them, and she recognized the sleek bodies of the wild horses she’d seen yesterday. They were magnificent creatures, large and beautiful and astoundingly graceful. They grazed across the path ahead of her, unhurried in their movements.
    As a child, Phoebe had been an excellent rider. She rarely had the opportunity now, but she still felt a strong affinity for the animals and had an undeniable urge to touch these horses. Her heart pounding with excitement, she carefully moved forward. She envisioned herself riding across a summer meadow on the back of the largest horse—the same horse that suddenly lifted its head and pricked its ears in Phoebe’s direction, lifting its nose to sniff the air. He knew she was there—perhaps he could even see her—but he was hardly concerned with her presence and lowered his head to the grass again.
    Phoebe took another, deliberate step forward. Two of the horses moved away. But the big, rusty-coated horse remained, obviously content with his breakfast and unafraid of her. She wanted to touch his silken mane, to stroke his long neck and nose, and impulsively held out her hand.
    The horse ignored her, and, in fact, turned slightly so that he would not see her.
    She moved again, but something caught her eye. She turned her head slightly and saw Summerfield standing only yards from her. He instantly lifted a finger to his lips, signaling her to be silent as he nodded at the horse.
    Phoebe nodded. He motioned her to remain where she was, and shifted his gaze to the horse, watching him closely as he moved fluidly to where Phoebe stood and silently moved to stand behind her.
    How Phoebe managed not to make a sound was nothing short of miraculous, because she could feel the man at her back, standing inappropriately and deliciously close to her. She could feel the lapels of his coat against her shoulder blades, his leg against her skirt. His body was twice the breadth of hers, twice as hard as hers.
    A charge ran through her and she shivered uncontrollably; Summerfield cupped her elbow as if to steady her, and then slid his bare palm down her arm, to her wrist, and wrapped his fingers around it. He slowly lifted her arm out, palm up.
    Phoebe tried to draw a breath without gasping with delight and pleasure at the touch of his hand. Her arm was on fire, her skin sizzling where his hand held her arm aloft. But then he slipped something into her palm and curled her fingers over it. Phoebe’s pulse leapt and he felt it, for he slipped his other arm around her waist, holding her steady against his