Shana Galen Read Online Free

his hands on her shoulders. Their heat penetrated the thick greatcoat and flowed through her.
    “I need to remove the coat,” he murmured.
    She nodded, and he slipped the garment halfway down her shoulders. It was an effort to smother the urge to tremble.
    In the next moment his warm, strong hands were on her bare neck, tracing the skin above the row ofcold amethysts she wore. Goosebumps followed the trail of his heated fingers as, with aching slowness, he slid his hands into the hair at the nape of her neck. His touch was gentle and firm, so unlike Reginald’s clumsy caresses. Tingles of pleasure coursed through her as he stroked the sensitive skin. Quelling her quivers was becoming more challenging by the moment.
    “Are you cold?” he whispered. “You’re shivering.” His breath brushed her ear, another caress, the sensation fogging her mind. She clung to one thought—she mustn’t let him know the effect he had on her.
    Lucia blurted the first words that came to her. “What business brings you to London?” She tried to concentrate on anything but the feel of his hands on her bare skin; it was all she could do to stop herself from shaking. “Are there not enough young ladies in Hampshire in whose lives you might interfere?”
    His chuckle was deep and quiet, and the low rumble sent another shot of heat straight through her.
    “Ethan needs me.”
    Lucia craned her head, her interest piqued. “What do you mean? Is something wrong between my sister and Ethan? I dined there only Wednesday, and Francesca seemed as happy as ever.”
    “Hold still a moment.” He lifted her hair and positioned it. Dear Lord, was he actually styling it? She didn’t even want to consider where he’d acquired this talent.
    “It’s not their family who need assistance,” he continued when it seemed he had better control of her curls. “It’s yours.”
    Lucia started, and the heat and fog in her mind whooshed away. She opened her mouth to ask him what in blazes he meant, when the carriage slowed.
    “We’re here,” Alex observed. He reached around her, parting the drapes, and she recognized her parents’ elegant town house across from the tree-lined park of Berkeley Square.
    He tugged her hair a few more times, then remarked, “It’s not pretty, but it’s neat.”
    Reaching back, she touched her hair and was surprised that it did seem in order—the kind of tight, efficient style a man would create.
    “I’ll escort you inside.”
    “No,” she barked.
    His coachman opened the door just then to assist her, but she pulled it shut in the surprised servant’s face and rounded on Alex, almost bumping noses with him. Ignoring his nearness as best she could, she demanded, “Explain what you meant by your last comment.”
    “I’ll escort you inside? It’s simply a polite—”
    “No, you obstinate man!” She poked him in the shoulder. “About my family!”
    “Ah.” His steel gray eyes considered her coolly. In the dim light she felt rather than saw him search her face. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the particulars. I’ll call on your father tomorrow. Maybe you’ll learn more then.”
    “Tomorrow?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is that all the reply I’m to expect when this concerns my own dear relations?”
    “For now. Get out. I’ll escort—”
    “No!” She whirled and swung the carriage door open, taking the baffled coachman’s hand. “I’ll do quite well without you.” She stepped down from the carriage, deposited his heavy greatcoat at his feet, turned, and glided regally up the short walk.
    “You’re not behaving in a very sisterly fashion,”he called after her. She stiffened at the amusement in his voice and stopped for a fraction of an instant under the wrought-iron arc of the lamp shedding light on the landing. Then, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a backward glance, she straightened, jerked her head high, marched up the last of the steps, and stormed through the polished black door of the town