Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Lucky for Frank, I am all out of fight. ‘Truly wonderful,’ I grate, smiling through my teeth at Lady Blythe. She’s delighted, of course, and, thankfully, she doesn’t interrogate me on the plot, characters or anything else, for that matter, relating to her new masterpiece. Her head cranes, looking past me, and her smile drops. ‘Oh, God save me, she’s spotted me.’
Both Frank and I turn and find Mrs Fallow flapping a deranged hand in the air.
‘Viscount Millingdale is in for a treat,’ Lady Blythe says quietly, ‘if Lizzy Fallow is as irritating as her mother.’ She whirls off, all smiles, leaving Frank and me alone once more.
My eyebrows jump up. ‘Irritating?’
Frank looks past me to Lizzy Fallow. ‘Yes, irritating,’ he says quietly and contemplatively.
‘Are you telling me, Frank, or yourself?’ I ask.
He blinks rapidly and seems to snap out of a trance. ‘Pardon me?’
‘Oh dear,’ I breathe, prompting my brother to quickly reinstate his cheeky smile. I thought right.
‘What?’
‘Do not what me, Francis Melr––’ My words tangle in my throat, clogging it terribly, when I catch sight of Johnny Winters entering the ballroom. His eyes immediately find mine, and, I’m certain of it, I stop breathing. My heart, God damn that pathetic muscle in my chest, turns, and my body begins to shake. He looks… oh, he looks like he could have just fallen from that place he took me to. Heaven. He is a god clad in the finest claret velvet jacket and cream trousers, his shirt, as ever, as crisp and white as snow, matching his cravat and gloves. Everything is perfect. Even his forbidding expression.
‘Eliza?’ Frank questions.
‘Yes,’ I squeak, turning away from the Duke. Whatever is he doing here?
‘You look a bit pasty.’
‘You know, I do feel a bit queasy,’ I admit. ‘Too many bubbles, I’m sure.’ My palm finds my stomach and circles. ‘I think I’ll step out into the courtyard for a moment to catch some air.’
‘I’ll come,’ Frank says, looking a bit concerned.
‘No, no.’ I rest my hand on his forearm. ‘You must save Mama from Countess Rose.’ I nod towards our mother, who looks about ready to punch the old lady on the nose. I wish she would.
Before Frank can contest, I make my escape. I hurry down a corridor, turn left, then right, then left again. ‘Damn it,’ I mutter, in a fuddle. It is this way, I am certain of it. And yet after a few more turns, I am still lost in the labyrinth of corridors.
I turn back, deciding I should retrace my footsteps as best I can remember, but I am halted by the looming, tall, hard frame of a man. The tingles tell me who it is before I look up, as does the familiar scent invading my nose.
‘Lost?’ he asks, his voice flat and without the warmth I unearthed and so loved.
No, Eliza, remember where he’s been! ‘Excuse me,’ I say, stepping to the side to pass him, but, quite smoothly and without urgency, he moves with me, remaining before me, remaining in my way. My jaw becomes tense as I stare at his broad chest, refusing, for it’ll be my undoing, to look at his face. ‘Excuse. Me.’
‘Look. At. Me.’
‘No.’
‘Do it, Eliza. Do it now.’
‘No.’
He growls and takes my jaw, directing my face to his. So I slam my eyes closed, defying him at every turn. Protecting myself. ‘Let me go,’ I order. ‘Or, I swear, I will scream.’
‘You will definitely scream, Eliza,’ he growls, pushing me with the gentlest of thrusts, but with unmistakable power, up against a wall. ‘Be sure of that.’
Even now, with his body pressed close to mine, a flurry of flashbacks overcoming me, and his breath spreading across my face, I remain in my darkness.
‘Why won’t you look at me?’
‘Go back to Lady Dare,’ I hiss. ‘I’m certain she’d be willing to scream for you.’
‘For the love of God.’ He kisses me chastely, and I gasp and flip my eyes open. The moment mine meet his, the pain subsides, not because he’s loosened his grip, but because, worrying to me, his eyes ease me. He eases me. It is with great regret that I must admit, Johnny Winters appears to be the cure for most of my disagreeable feelings. ‘Better,’ he grunts.
And then he kisses me again, this time long and deeply, and I am instantly lost in the force of it, his greedy tongue tussling chaotically with mine. I whimper, every grievance and gripe forgotten.
‘I must have you.’ His hand goes beneath the skirt of my gown and hoists it up, and he tugs my pantaloons down. I gasp, my head falling back, as he frantically kisses my neck, biting and sucking, wrestling with his trousers. ‘Tell me you want me,’ he demands.
‘I do.’ Oh, how I do! I yelp when I feel the familiar sensation of his wet, naked flesh between my thighs, and on a strangled bark and a yell from me, he thrusts inside me and pushes me up the wall. ‘Heavens above,’ he breathes, burying his face in my neck. ‘Are you all right?’ he whispers, as every muscle within me tightens and pulls him closer.