A Much Compromised Lady Read Online Free

do have a sharp edge to your tongue.
But I assure you that I can actually manage to be engaged by a
number of things outside myself. But, my own ease does come first,
so if this is going to be a very long—”
    “Only long enough.”
    “We still ought to be comfortable.” He swept
his arm around the barren room. “I would offer you a chair, only it
is otherwise occupied, so you shall have to make do with the bed.
Oh, you may save your suspicious glances. My bite is generally
regarded by ladies as considerably nicer than my bark.”
    St. Albans allowed his smile to warm,
calculating the exact amount of charm to exert. It always amazed
him that people were so easily disarmed by a mere curving of the
lips.
    She, however, did not seem inclined to be
easy. With a scornful glance at the bed, she threw wide her arms,
her face expressive and her eyes bright with indignation. “How can
I sit and tell you my swato —my story? Bah! That is no good.
I need to show you as much as tell you!”
    She was up to something, right enough. She
wanted out of her corner, and this was but an excuse to get past
him. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. Despite his
certainty that she was plotting something, he wanted to hear this swato of hers. Besides, she could not get past that door
without moving the chair. And he rather liked how those gestures
did interesting things with those lush curves of hers.
    Uncrossing his arms, he gave her a courtly
bow and offered room for her to step past him. She gave him a
sidelong glance, and he decided if she gave him many more of those
looks from under those thick, dark lashes, he would not be able to
allow her to finish her story without ravishing her. But she
scooted past him, her fast step betraying her nervousness, and he
thought this was far more entertaining than an ordinary
seduction.
    He followed her around the foot of the bed,
and seated himself on the rumpled linens. After sliding his pistol
back to its place under the pillow, he shifted on the bed to face
her.
    She had pulled up the sleeves of her shift so
that the thin fabric covered her shoulders, but in her underclothes
and with her hair rumpled she looked as if she had already been
deliciously tumbled. The firelight warmed her face, casting a glow
onto her high cheekbones and that round chin of hers.
    St. Albans lay back, propping himself up on
one elbow. “So what is this...this swato of yours?”
    Glynis settled her hands on her hips, and
forced her smile back in place. She had the door to her back, and
everything inside her screamed to turn and run. But the chair under
the doorknob would slow her too much. And her dress and cloak still
lay underneath this gaujo’s bed, where she had stuffed them
after slipping into his room. What a mistake she had made there,
but no use came of regret. She needed a new plan now, and time
enough to think of it.
    Wetting her lips, she began talking.
    As with any good swato there was some
truth. She owed him that much for not betraying her earlier. But a swato needed a little fantasy, too. And she had Christo and Dej to protect. She could not risk betraying their presence
nearby.
    She told him how she came to the inn after
hearing that a man who went by the title Lord Nevin was staying
there. Happy to have their fortunes told, the maids had let her
into the kitchen, but they told her more than she ever revealed to
them. That was the usual way of it. Her dej— her
mother — had taught her well to tell fortunes from the
questions asked. But now Glynis could see why one girl had giggled
nervously, and another had asked with apprehension if she would
catch the eye of the wicked Earl of St. Albans.
    Seeing him as he was now—sprawled elegantly
across the bed, looking as boneless and lazy as a cat, his green
eyes large and glittering with intriguing lights—she could believe
those stories the tavern maids had told her. She had thought they
must be elaborating that he was the most depraved rake in