A Baron in Her Bed Read Online Free Page A

eyes, dark lashes resting on his smooth cheeks.
    Now that she was more relaxed in his company, she admitted that masquerading as a man had unsuspected delights. She could study this very attractive male at close quarters without censure. Horatia changed her mind when he pulled off his cravat and loosened his shirt. The dark hair at the base of his strong brown throat held a certain fascination but made her uneasy. The room suddenly seemed to close in.
    She took a deep breath. “As a rule, we don’t see highwaymen around here.”
    “Trust me to come across the brutes!” He frowned and pointed to a shelf where a few dusty bottles stood. “Knowing my papa, there will be some whiskey there.”
    Glad to move away from the nerve-tingling sensation his nearness created, Horatia jumped to her feet and shook the bottles. One sloshed with liquid, and she pulled out the cork. “Whiskey.” She smiled. “You were right. This bottle is half full. We can sterilize your wound with it and then we should cover it to prevent infection.”
    “Does it smell brackish or reedy?” he asked.
    She shook her head as spicy oak smells greeted her. It reminded her of her father’s favourite Scottish malt. “No, it’s still good.”
    “ Bonne. ” He reached for the bottle. “Sit here beside me, Simon.”
    Horatia’s throat tightened at the thought of joining him on the bed. Desperate, she scrabbled for recollections of how Simon walked and his mannerisms. She strode over to the bed with a masculine swagger and gave the bottle to the baron. He took a long swallow and handed it back to her.
    Settled on the end of the bed, Horatia was careful to keep some distance between them. She spread her knees and rested a hand on her thigh, as she’d seen Simon do. The position made her feel oddly exposed. Hot and flustered, she crossed her legs at the ankle. She gave the bottle a wary glance. While she recognized the smell of whiskey, the strongest drink she had ever indulged in was a small glass of sherry or wine served with dinner.
    Horatia took a manly swig and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The fiery liquid burned its way down her throat into her stomach. She couldn’t breathe. She coughed and spluttered until his lordship slapped her on the back. The shock of his touch made her gasp and cough even more as warmth spread over her skin from the spot where his hand lay.
    “I gather you’re not used to it?”
    His smile had an odd effect on her heart, which gave a little leap. It was quite the most attractive smile she’d seen, his nice mouth and white teeth contrasted by olive skin. He took the bottle from her and put it to his lips. After another swallow, he offered it to her again.
    “No, thank you, my lord,” she rasped.
    “Go on,” he urged. “’Twill warm you.”
    When Horatia took the bottle from him, his fingers collided with hers. Acutely aware of his touch on her skin, she took a hasty gulp. The liquid slipped down the back of her throat and spread through her to warm her extremities, right down to her toes.
    She handed the bottle back, feeling more at ease as her muscles loosened. Catching herself slumping on the cot, she jumped up. Dust rose from the rug as she settled there by the fire, now warm both inside and out, the knot of anxiety thawed. She leaned back on her hands and straightened her legs in what she considered a mannish pose, listening to the crackle and hiss of the flames. Aware of his every movement, she watched as he stretched his long limbs over the cot.
    Horatia didn’t consider herself sheltered from men’s company; she’d been kissed at a ball held at Rosecroft Hall when she and a young man wandered the garden. She had not liked him much beyond his looks. He’d undoubtedly been a spoiled rake, and when he returned to London the next day, she hadn’t wished to see him again. It was the memory of that kiss that had the power to thrill her, rather than the man who delivered it. He had not affected