Lord Deverill's Heir by Catherine Coulter (books to read for 13 year olds .txt) 📕

me or raise your damned eyebrows!” She paused beneath the chandelier. He wished she had kept going because her gown clung to her like a second hide. He could clearly see her breasts and hips. He didn’t like what it made him feel. He didn’t want to be as hard as a stone when he was angry at her. At the moment, she didn’t deserve him to desire her.

“Well, what do you have to say?”

She had the gall to tap the sodden toe of her left slipper against the marble floor. “Sir, are you suddenly dumb? I thought you had something to say.”

“We shall dine in thirty minutes in the Velvet Room, ma’am,” he said in a surprisingly calm voice. “I refuse to have my dinner delayed any longer.” She began up the stairs, pools of water forming at her feet, then turned to look down at him. “Now I understand. You’re angry at me because you are too much the gentleman to eat your dinner without me. I’m sorry the time got away from me. I promise I will be down as quickly as I can change my clothes.”

The earl wished there was something to kick in the huge entrance hall, but there were only two ornately carved massive chairs from the seventeenth century. They probably weighed more than he did.

He had downed only one snifter of brandy when Arabella came into the Velvet Room, wearing black silk, as usual, and looking as if she had napped the entire afternoon. She looked fresh and full of life. She also looked innocent and guileless. Ha, he knew better. He wished he hadn’t seen her breasts and hips so clearly outlined through her wet gown. He wished he could keep this damned female in perspective. He would marry her, he had to marry her, but still, he didn’t have to feel anything else about any of it.

He was immune to her, at least most of his body was. She didn’t look particularly fashionable in that dreary black mourning gown. Ah, but that hair of hers. It hung down her back in damp waves, thick and glossy. A narrow black ribbon secured it back from her forehead. His palms itched to touch her hair, to wrap it around his hand over and over, to pull her slowly to him until her breasts were pressing against his chest.

This would never do. “Well, I can only hope that we won’t have to call Dr. Branyon to prescribe for you.”

He sounded annoyed, which was surely odd. Annoyed because he would be eating his dinner a bit late? She said, grinning at him because she was a girl who enjoyed fueling annoyance, particularly his annoyance, “I am blessed with my father’s good health,” she said, all good humor. She walked to where he stood by the fireplace. She didn’t stop until she was less than a foot from him. What was she doing? Was she trying to goad the bear? The earl found himself a trifle daunted. No, he would never be daunted.

It was just that she wasn’t behaving like she had all week. Rather than avoiding him, she was tracking him down to the very spot where he was standing. He turned away from her and walked toward the door. He would go to the dining room. That made sense since he had complained that she had delayed his dinner.

“Justin.”

He whirled around and stared at her incredulously. Surely he had not heard her aright. Why was she behaving in this strange way? He said, “I am sir to you.”

“Well, yes, you have been sir. I was wondering if you would mind if I used your given name now?”

“I have only known you for a bit more than a week. We haven’t been sufficiently friendly or intimate to justify it. No, I will remain sir to you.” Then, to his astonishment, he watched her run her tongue over her bottom lip. A very nice full bottom lip, he saw, now wet and shining from her tongue.

“I’m trying to become more friendly. Perhaps you would change your mind?

Perhaps after dinner?”

He shook his head. “You cannot be Arabella Deverill,” he said firmly.

“Perhaps you are her twin sister, long kept in hiding in the attic, beneath one of those forty gables.”

“No, she is still there, in her chains. Have you heard her howling? No, that’s not possible. There hasn’t been a full moon. She only howls at the full moon.” She grinned at him shamelessly. “Now, sir, please come here and sit down. You and I have some serious matters to discuss.”

“What serious matters?” he asked, not moving. “No, don’t say anything. If there are serious matters between us it can only mean one thing. A woman does not woo a man. Besides, I will not speak to you about anything of importance until after I’ve had my dinner.” He gave a ferocious pull on the bell cord.

“My father always said that a man’s stomach was important to him. Not the most important—he would never tell me what that was—but nonetheless, I suppose I must agree that to be at your best, you must have a full belly.” He could but stare at her. He would marry her and bed her and then, at least, she wouldn’t be so damnably innocent. “Ah, here you are, Crupper.

Have the footmen bring out dinner in here this evening. Lady Arabella doesn’t wish to travel all the way to the dining room.” A few minutes later, the earl looked down at the roast pork and fresh garden peas. “Just as Lady Arabella ordered, my lord,” Crupper said. The smells were delicious.

“You ordered this?”

She nodded.

“I do not particularly care for roast pork, Crupper. Have you other dishes as well?”

“Of course there are other dishes,” Arabella said. “Cook always prepares roast pork for me on Thursdays.”

“Hell, leave the damned pork, Crupper, and forget the other dishes. This will do admirably.”

His lordship’s language was deteriorating alarmingly. Lady Arabella didn’t seem to mind, so Crupper decided he