Louise Allen - The Lord and the Wayward Lady

Heat seemed to fill her; she could feel the blush colouring her cheeks. That broad chest under her palms, the sleek planes of his pectoral muscles, the utter assurance of his kiss, the taste of him still on her lips. Nell got a grip on herself before she licked her lips. Did he even recall that embrace? Or had he been in some sort of near-unconscious state?

The dark eyes looked back, bland and polite, and she realised she could not tell. ‘I found where you live with very little effort, Miss Latham,’ the viscount said. ‘Others could too.’ He waited, giving her time to think that over, but he had no need. The shivery image of knives that the thought of the dark man always conjured up was enough.

‘Perhaps a night or two, if Lady Narborough permits,’ she agreed, wondering why she felt she had surrendered far more than a few days of her life.

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