Your Wicked Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

lofty walls and terraces of stone . . .’ ” She skipped onward. “‘Fruit is very abundant, especially oranges, lemons, and figs.’ I adore figs. So difficult to find a nice fig in London!”
    He made a dismissive noise. “Did you not stop in La Valletta on the voyage out? Squalid little town.”
    She cast down the book. “I begin to wonder if any locale on earth meets your high standards. Perhaps even Eden would disappoint you!”
    He smiled at her. “Of course it would. All those animals would make for a great deal of muck. So much vegetation? The most dreadful humidity.”
    “Blasphemy,” she said. But she found herself fighting down a grin. His humor was wickedly dry.
    And he knew it. His own smile invited her to admire him. He was clearly accustomed to ladies’ admiration. Lord Arrogant!
    The thought made her frown. She was inventing ever so many names for him . . . cad, blackguard, captor  . . . largely because she could not quite bring herself to acknowledge his claim to be Viscount Ripton. But she could not deny that even the way he now lifted a brow smacked of privilege from the cradle.
    “Never fear,” he said. “We’ll get you something new to wear in Malta. It’s only two days away, and you can . . .”
    His sentence trailed off. He had glanced over at her valise, which—drat it—she had not bothered to close after her desperate struggle with the gown.
    She did not lack for clothing: that was obvious.
    His gaze swung back to her. “Or perhaps you linger in that dress for a reason?”
    She felt herself flush. “I like it. No harm in that.”
    “Naturally.” His head tipped as he studied her. Then comprehension broke over his face. “Ah. Buttons up the back, does it?”
    A strangled noise escaped her. “Nonsense. As I said, I think it beautiful .”
    He grinned, flashing improbably white teeth. “May I be of assistance?”
    “No!” Alarmed now, she sprang to her feet. “I’m quite fine, I assure you!”
    He made a visible attempt to look serious. “I’ll close my eyes, if you like.”
    “You think me a base criminal! Why should I trust you to do the honorable thing?”
    “No reason to trust me,” he agreed. He looked to be enjoying himself hugely . “Of course, were I an honorable man, that would not change no matter your occupation.”
    “Says the man who threatened to drown me!”
    “And still might,” he said. “But perhaps one of your other dresses would make for better swimming.”
    She opened her mouth, then thought better of her retort. The longing to be in some fresh, clean gown overwhelmed her. This one itched terribly. Her calves still ached from the impressions made by the seed pearls, which had dug into her skin as she’d slept, and felt not much better when she sat.
    She took a long breath. “You may not have this gown.” It was valuable. “I mean to keep it.”
    “What a pity,” he said. “It would look so well on me, too.”
    Her giggle escaped without permission. She remedied the slip by scowling at him.
    He looked unfazed. “Have some sentimental value, does it? A beautiful reminder of the man who abandoned you.”
    His mockery was salt in the wound. “No. I mean to sell it. It will fund me for a few weeks while I look for employment.”
    He made a chiding noise, a click of his tongue. “Recall your role. You’re meant to be heartbroken.”
    “No, I never pretended that. And while I would very much like the leisure to be shattered by my fiancé’s betrayal, what I would like even more would be to avoid starvation once I arrive in London.”
    For a brief space of silence, he frowned at her. And then, with a shrug, he said, “Then you’d certainly best remove the gown. Further wear will only damage its value.”
    He had an inarguable point. And the gown itched too badly for her to continue to deny his logic. “Very well. But you must blindfold yourself,” she added quickly. “Otherwise I won’t trust you not to look.”
    He rolled