Page 19 of Lord of Mistrust

She sighed, and as his hand freed her shoulder and brushed across her breast, she pressed her fingers into his hair and ran her thumb over his cheek.

She was caressing a man’s face? How had this come about, when her head had been so full of her quest to find her parents that no other thoughts were allowed to intrude? Had Sir Robert Mallory given her a love potion, or cast some manner of spell? She couldn’t find it in herself to resist him—she was deprived of all will. Her body was fascinated by his touch, keen and eager, and when he swept a hand over her breast again, her nipples peaked in excitement.

“Sir, we ought not—”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “I know it. Yet it seems I cannot help myself. Looking into the face of death gives one an appetite. And you, Madam Mystery, are a feast for a starving man.”

“Chloe,” she croaked. “Call me Chloe.” After all, if he was going to massage her breasts in that intimate way and tweak her aching nipples, they should at the very least be on first name terms.

“Well met, Chloe.” He bent his neck and tasted her breast through the lawn of her nightgown. “Pray, call me Robert, or Robin, if you will.”

She’d just begun to respond to the sensation of his mouth on her nipple when he pulled away, leaving her bereft. But it was only to divest himself of his doublet and undo the laces at the neck of his shirt.

“There. It seems unfair that you’re undressed when I’m still fully clad. I believe in equality in the bedchamber.”

Giving her a feral grin that heated her to the very core, he bent to his task again, rasping one nipple with his tongue while rolling the other beaded peak between thumb and forefinger. She moaned, and pushed her hips at him, then twined her arms around his neck and wished she was no longer wearing the nightgown.

Her hands molded his broad shoulders, exulting in the muscular strength she found there. She could feel the heat of his flesh beneath his linen shirt and, for an instant, dared to wish she could feel him properly, skin to skin.

He raised his face to smile at her, then swept a searing kiss across her lips. “I’m crushing you in my enthusiasm. Let’s see if I can’t render you more comfortable.”

With that, he reached behind her and tugged the pillow more solidly behind her neck. She heard the crackle of paper, and something slid to the floor. Her father’s letter! She’d secreted it under her pillow as soon as she’d arrived.

“Never mind that.” She propped herself up on her elbows, but Robert was already reaching down to retrieve the document. He turned it over, then held it up to the light.

“What’s this?”

A shiver of disquiet rippled through her. “It’s nothing. Pray, give it no mind.”

Ignoring her, he stood and strode to the window, examining the seal on the letter.

Wrapping her arms over her bosom, she sat up straight. He’d become distracted and was ruining the most magical moment of her life. Disappointment made her brusque. “Are you in the habit of reading other people’s private correspondence?”

When he turned his head to look at her, she could hardly believe the change in him. All color had drained from his cheeks, and his lips looked white.

“How did you come by this?” His voice was harsh, demanding.

“It’s none of your—” She paused. So strong a reaction suggested that he knew something. He’d recognized the seal! Perchance he could help her find her father.

“That letter was written by the man who sired me. I have not, as yet, been able to work out the name.”

“I know his name.” Robert’s face was a mask of shock. “And I know the seal. It belongs to Sir Mortimer Fowler. He is your father?” He spoke to himself as if in a dream, as though she was no longer in the room.

His voice was filled with despair as he said, “If you are truly his daughter, then I am doomed.”

Chapter Fifteen

All lust quenched, Robert strode toward the door, then stalked back to the bed, the letter quivering in his hand.

“You are genuinely this man’s daughter?” How could he have such ill luck? Indeed, he must be cursed!

Chloe gazed at him, her moist lips slightly apart, looking delightfully tousled. And exceedingly puzzled. “You know him?” She sounded excited.

“Of course, I know him.” He wanted to tear the letter to shreds, then burn the shreds to ash. Then trample upon the ashes for good measure.

“I’ve never even met him.”

He froze midstride, then swiveled toward her. “You’ve never met your father?”