AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Bloody hell.
Or how Chastity Whitaker came to be in his arms.
In...his...arms.
He stumbled over the words several times, trying to frame them in his sleep-addled mind. He kept getting distracted by the warm thighs lined up with his and the gently curving spine beneath his palms. He flexed his fingers against her body, and she gave a little squeak.
“Let me go,” she hissed.
Or more to the point—why was she in his bed?
He released her as though she’d scalded him. Which was not far from the truth. Every part of him remained heated from the contact. She rolled swiftly away and stood. The shadowy offering of his bedroom meant he had to stare at her for a while before being able to make out much of her features while she fussed with her skirts.
At least she was fully dressed, he supposed, which was more than he could say for himself. Of course, he had not expected her to be so bold as to slip into his room while he was sleeping or he might well have wrapped himself up in every layer of clothing he owned.
Especially given his current…uh…situation.
Who could blame him really? He was but a man and he’d been asleep. It was hardly his fault his body did not know the difference between a sensual woman and Chastity Whitaker. Not that she wasn’t sensual. Hell, the bloody woman seemed to breath sensuality. But his mind knew better.
Now he just needed to think of bland things. Dull things. Like turnips or cabbage. Or the long journey back to Devon. Or…the plays put on by the local theatre group at his estate. They were endless and exceedingly dull despite their best efforts.
He drew in a long breath. It was working.
Perhaps.
Finally, he found the mental capacity to push up to a sitting position. “What are you doing here?”
She hastened around his bed and swished open the curtains. He blinked at the sudden invasion of daylight and then looked to her. It would have been easier if they had remained in the dark.
Her cheeks were rosy. Embarrassed, no doubt, and it would be worse if she figured out quite what she had done to him. The brazen woman had no right to be sneaking into his room. If anyone spotted her...
Well, it would be worse for her than it would him, but he had no desire to be known to be bedding servants, even ones who looked like Mrs. Whitaker.
“Well?” he demanded.
“Oh!” Her gaze darted from somewhere around his chest upward. “I needed to speak with you. Alone.”
“And this was the only moment you could find?” Valentine scrubbed a hand over his face, lingering over the start of a beard.
She eyed his movements then gave herself a visible shake.
Valentine smirked. No doubt she was used to elegant dandies who cared more for how they looked than anything of substance. A society woman like Mrs. Whitaker would want to be in the company of those who cared for their appearance as much as she did.
Though, he had to admit, despite the uniform being nothing other than practical, the apron about her waist did flatter her figure and there was something mildly appealing about her hair in a cap, forcing one’s gaze to focus only on her features.
The heat lingering in his body flickered then ignited. Damnation. What was he doing to himself? He shifted in his bed and gritted his teeth then eyed the curtain behind her. Nothing of interest there.
Not that he was interested in Mrs. Whitaker. It was simply a natural reaction of having had a curvaceous lady in his arms. It had been some time since he’d bedded a woman after all.
Really, he would have reacted this way to any woman.
Of course, not just any woman was in his bedroom.
He subtly adjusted the bedding around him and fixed her with a stern glare. “Well?”
Her throat bobbed. “Um, it’s just...you know you do not need to be here.”
“In my bedroom?”
