Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Bryn couldn’t explain anything that was happening. Not to him, his cock, or his brain, which had gone completely addled. This woman with her damn light yet extremely addictive and intoxicating scent of violet and mint had completely confused him. On so many levels.
She was short, curvy, and had these eyes that completely gutted him every time he looked in them.
He shouldn’t be standing in front of his father with his hand pressed against her back. Her dress was thin and he wanted to turn her over his knee for going outside without all the proper clothing she should be wearing. And why wasn’t he feeling stays beneath this dress?
His cock went from semi-hard to fully erect and he bit the inside of his cheek to think about the pain and get his erection to subside. That wasn’t an observation he needed to have right now.
“I said I’d take you home later. Right now, we’re going to eat.”
More stiffening, this time from her.
His father merely cocked an eyebrow at the two of them before shrugging and gesturing for Bryn to lead the way. He noticed how he shared a soft word with Falcon on the way past him. The six of them walked into the dining room and he wasn’t sure, completely, on how to take the unpleasant rolling in his gut when he had to let his hand fall away from Rosamunde.
Even so, he held her chair for her and slid her in, allowing his hand to drag along her shoulders before he took the seat right next to her.
His mother lifted her eyebrow this time and Bryn worked hard not to squirm beneath her scrutiny. While his parents were very different in the private eye than in public, they were still both forces to be reckoned with—his mother an honest-to-God princess and his father a marquess.
It didn’t take very long and they had warm soup and toasty fresh bread before them. He heard Rosamunde’s stomach growl and saw a flush skim up her fair skin. Bryn knew better than to say anything about it but his mind whirred with reasons she would be hungry.
She carried herself like a lady, however her clothing was definitely not the newest fashion, nor necessarily appropriate for the weather. Who was her father and why was he letting his daughter out without protection of either man or clothing?
“Bryn.”
He blinked and snapped his attention to his mother, who waited for his gaze. “Yes, Mama?”
“I asked you how you met Miss Fletcher.”
Who is that?
His sister huffed. “Rosamunde. Seated right next to you.”
The woman beside him somehow shrank into herself, and he didn’t much care for that. Glaring at his sister briefly before putting his attention back on his mother, he replied, “Too close to the docks. Where I found Keely.” She is a lady. Not that it mattered to him.
Once the focus was back on his sister as had been his intention, he turned his stare to the woman beside him. She’d taken maybe two bites of the bread and the spoon rested on the dish, upside down.
“Eat.” He dipped his head closer to her, wanting her to look at him.
“I’m sure your family didn’t plan on feeding someone like me.”
A low growl slid free before he could stop it. She never glanced at him.
“My mother loves to feed anyone who comes into this house.” He stole a look at the woman he spoke about. She watched him with a knowing gaze, even if he didn’t want to admit what he saw on her face.
Why would I? I just met this woman. She shouldn’t mean so much. I shouldn’t care. At all. I should take her home, leave her there and get on with my life.
“And we’re not going to discuss the other bit of your statement. Eat or I’ll feed you.”
“Pushy male.”
Her words were low but he had no issues hearing her. And her snippy tone made him struggle not to show the smile threatening to take over. Something deep inside his chest unfurled and pleasure poured through him as she picked up the spoon, in her left hand, and dipped it into the bowl of white soup.
The moan of appreciation she made when it slipped by her lips was subdued enough he doubted anyone else in the room heard her. Damn though if it didn’t make him feel like beating his chest. He wanted to be the one to provide things for her.
Bryn shook his head and focused on his food, not on the woman beside him who smelled so delicious. The one who had in the short time he’d known her become such a distraction and temptation, unwanted though it may be.
He wasn’t planning on staying in London, heck not even in England. This city wasn’t for him. He didn’t do the politics and hated the way he was treated. His plans involved heading back to where he had been born—the wild open land of the Americas. Quite honestly, he was much better off by himself and away from people.