The Raven Prince Read Online Free PDF Page B

tilted. “I am Anna Wren, my lord. What is your dog’s name?”
    “I don’t know.” He stalked into the room, taking care not to move suddenly.
    “But”—the woman knit her brow—“isn’t it your dog?”
    He glanced at the dog and was momentarily mesmerized. Her elegant fingers were stroking through the dog’s fur.
    “He follows me and sleeps by my bed.” Edward shrugged. “But he has no name that I know of.”
    He stopped in front of the rosewood desk. She’d have to move past him in order to escape the room.
    Anna Wren’s brows lowered disapprovingly. “But he must have a name. How do you call him?”
    “I don’t, mostly.”
    The woman was plain. She had a long, thin nose, brown eyes, and brown hair—what he could see of it. Nothing about her was out of the ordinary. Except that mouth.
    The tip of her tongue moistened that corner.
    Edward felt his cock jump and harden; he hoped to hell she wouldn’t notice and be shocked out of her maidenly mind. He was aroused by a frumpy woman he didn’t even know.
    The dog must’ve grown tired of the conversation. He slipped from beneath Anna Wren’s hand and lay down with a sigh by the fireplace.
    “You name him if you must.” Edward shrugged again and rested the fingertips of his right hand on the desk.
    The assessing stare she leveled at him stirred a memory. His eyes narrowed. “You’re the woman who made my horse shy on the high road the other day.”
    “Yes.” She gave him a look of suspicious sweetness. “I am so sorry you fell off your horse.”
    Impertinent. “I did not fall off. I was unseated.”
    “Indeed?”
    He almost contested that one word, but she held out a sheaf of papers to him. “Would you care to see what I’ve transcribed today?”
    “Hmm,” he rumbled noncommittally.
    He withdrew his spectacles from a pocket and settled them on his nose. It took a moment to concentrate on the page in his hand, but when he did, Edward recognized the handwriting of his new secretary. He’d read over the transcribed pages the night before, and while he’d approved of the neatness of the script, he’d wondered about the effeminacy of it.
    He looked at little Anna Wren over his spectacles and snorted. Not effeminate. Feminine. Which explained Hopple’s evasiveness.
    He read a few sentences more before another thought struck him. Edward darted a sharp glance at the woman’s hand and saw she wore no rings. Ha. All the men hereabouts were probably afraid to court her.
    “You are unwed?”
    She appeared startled. “I am a widow, my lord.”
    “Ah.” Then she had been courted and wed, but not anymore. No male guarded her now.
    Hard on the heels of that thought was a feeling of ridiculousness for having predatory thoughts about such a drab female. Except for that mouth . . . He shifted uncomfortably and brought his wandering thoughts back to the page he held. There were no blots or misspellings that he could see. Exactly what he would expect from a small, brown widow. He grimaced mentally.
    Ha. A mistake. He glared at the widow over his spectacles. “This word should be compost, not compose. Can’t you read my handwriting?”
    Mrs. Wren took a deep breath as if fortifying her patience, which made her lavish bosom expand. “Actually, my lord, no, I can’t always.”
    “Humph,” he grunted, a little disappointed she hadn’t argued. She’d probably have to take a lot of deep breaths if she were enraged.
    He finished reading through the papers and threw them down on her desk, where they slid sideways. She frowned at the lopsided heap of papers and bent to retrieve one that had fluttered to the floor.
    “They look well enough.” He walked behind her. “I will be working here later this afternoon whilst you finish transcribing the manuscript thus far.”
    He reached around her to flick a piece of lint off the desk. For a moment, he could feel her body heat and smell the faint scent of roses wafting up from her warmth. He sensed her