Wicked in Your Arms Read Online Free PDF Page A

didn’t hear what brought forth such merriment, but several of the popinjays glanced her way. Familiar heat crept up her cheeks. This really was unendurable. Lord Tolliver frowned and sent his friends a castigating look, which only seemed to prove that they were laughing at her, that the viscount himself knew she was a subject of scorn, but he would grit his teeth and bear courting her anyway. Holy hellfire . It was really too much. Was there no way she could find an acceptable husband without suffering these indignities?
    â€œIf you’ll pardon me, I need some air.” She quickly turned away before Cleo or Lord Tolliver might object, or worse, insist on joining her.
    She squeezed her way through the crush of bodies, heat flaming her face. Reaching a pair of French balcony doors, she saw that it was raining outside. An incessant, sleeting winter drizzle that did not appear to be on the verge of letting up. Blast .
    Whirling around, she scanned the hopelessly crowded room. Lifting her skirts, she pushed her way back through the thick press, careful to keep her head down lest she see anyone pointing or staring at her. She’d had enough of the stares. What she needed right now was a respite, a moment alone, a place to hide for the rest of the evening until her father decided he’d had enough of cards.
    Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would renew her hunt for a husband. In earnest. But not now. Not tonight. Not after that bloody prince. Not after the viscount’s leering friends.
    Grier shook her head, almost laughing aloud as she wondered: Was there no nobleman who preferred a simple country existence? One who was in the market for a rich bride of low birth? Could he not take out an advertisement in the Times so that she might find him?

Chapter Three
    G rier passed the ladies’ retiring room and dove down a corridor rife with flickering shadows. Sconces lined the walls every few feet, plunging her in and out of darkness as she moved forward.
    Likely one of these rooms deep within the house wouldn’t be occupied. She selected one, pressing her ear to its length before turning the latch. Stepping inside, she saw it was a bedchamber. A fire burned low within the hearth. Closing the door, she drew closer to that delicious warmth, thinking she might curl up on the chaise and enjoy the sanctuary she’d found.
    Only upon drawing closer did she see that the chaise was already occupied with two figures gilded in the firelight. She jerked still, her heart lurching to her throat. She must have made a sound. A small gasp of horror.
    The couple flew up on the chaise, tearing apart as if split asunder by lightning.
    The female squeaked, her hands fumbling to heft her gown back up over her exposed breasts. Grier recognized her at once. Few women possessed a bosom of such immense proportions.
    â€œLady Kirkendale,” she murmured.
    Before her gaze even drifted to the room’s other occupant, the man responsible for Lady Kirkendale’s state of dishabille, she knew whom she would see.
    He stared back at her, a dark brow arched drolly. Nothing in his countenance reflected embarrassment. “You again?”
    Her embarrassment fled as her indignation surged. She crossed her arms. “Yes. Me again.”
    â€œThis isn’t what it looks like,” Lady Kirkendale choked as she shoved her very large breasts back into her bodice. “Sevastian, say something,” she hissed to her companion.
    The prince said nothing, merely maintained his cold stare.
    â€œOh, I’m certain I’ve interrupted nothing . . . unseemly,” Grier lied, uncaring of the sordid business she’d interrupted, only wishing to escape the awkward situation. Backing away from the pair, she waved a hand reassuringly. “I didn’t see anything. Please. Go about whatever it is . . . you’re doing.”
    â€œOf course, you didn’t see anything. We weren’t doing anything,” Lady