Regency Christmas Proposals. Кэрол Мортимер
Читать онлайн книгу.
woman’s bedchamber! The marriage between her mother and Gray’s brother might have been of short duration, and the couple now both passed away, but Amelia had still been Perry’s stepdaughter. And, with no other relatives alive to care for her after her mother and stepfather had died, Gray had become—still was—her guardian.
A guardian who was only too aware of her beauty and her powers of seduction!
And Gray was only too aware now, as he attempted to distance himself, of the soft delicacy of her flesh beneath his arm and hand, the warmth of her body pressed so close alongside his own …!
‘This really will not do, Amelia—’
‘We have arrived now, My Lord.’ She raised no further protest as Gray at last managed to wrest his uninjured arm from across her supporting shoulders, and instead reached out to push open the door to her bedchamber.
A room Gray could not resist glancing into as he found himself filled with a curiosity to know if Amelia’s bedchamber would be as feminine as the woman herself.
It was.
Curtains of golden velvet hung at the two long windows, the furniture was of a pale cream and delicate in design, and the matching four-poster bed was draped in white satin and lace, with half a dozen matching pillows plumped up at its head. Pillows which Gray instantly knew would be a perfect foil for the spread of Amelia’s loosened gold hair—
Gray drew himself up sharply. ‘It is simply not done, Amelia, to invite a gentleman into your bedchamber!’
Her eyes widened at his cold vehemence, before those long dark lashes once again lowered to conceal the expression in the depths of those blue eyes. ‘I have invited my guardian into my bedchamber,’ she corrected huskily. ‘And surely if that man is a gentleman, and intends behaving as such, then there can be nothing wrong in a woman inviting him into her bedchamber …?’
Gray could not think of one gentleman of his acquaintance—several of them married!—who would be capable of behaving the gentleman if the lush and kissable Amelia were to invite them into her bedchamber!
‘Besides, My Lord, you are injured,’ she continued practically.
Injured, yes. Incapable of feeling male desire, no!
‘Suffering from a wound that I inflicted,’ she added with a pained grimace.
There was that, Gray accepted slowly, and he found himself unable to resist the appeal of those sea-blue eyes as she looked up at him so prettily. ‘Very well, Amelia.’ He sighed. ‘But I will remain only long enough for you to bathe and dress my wound.’
‘You are very forgiving, My Lord,’ she told him.
Forgiving or not—ward or not—Gray was still very aware that apart from the cook, Mrs Burdock, he was apparently completely alone in the house with Amelia Ashford. Completely alone in her bedchamber with the beautiful and seductive Amelia. A woman who had already caused his arousal to throb and ache once this evening …
Despite her earlier protestations, Amelia was less sure as to the correctness of Lord Grayson being in her bedchamber once he had removed his ruined greatcoat—Amelia doubted that amount of blood could ever be removed!—his superfine, his waistcoat, and finally his shirt, before then sitting down upon the side of her bed so that she might tend to the deep graze on his arm.
She had never seen a man unclothed before, but even so Amelia was certain that Lord Gideon Grayson was a very fine specimen indeed. She had already guessed as much, of course, when he had held her in his arms earlier, but she could be left in no doubt now, when confronted with this much naked male flesh …!
Hard and lightly tanned flesh that showed the evidence of several scars.
‘Have you fought many duels, My Lord?’ Amelia allowed the tips of her fingers to move lightly across the scars on his back and chest, and a puckered and circular blemish on his shoulder that looked as if it might have been caused by a bullet wound. There were several more vicious scars across his back and torso that might have been inflicted by a sword.
Lord Grayson shot her an irritated glance. ‘Why should you assume I have fought any?’
Because Amelia knew that Gideon Grayson, rather than joining the army, as a second son might be expected to do, had instead allowed his older brother to take up arms in defence of the family name, whilst he continued to live the life of the rake in London. Becoming involved in such exploits and scandals there that tales of his many mistresses and excessive gambling had even reached them here in the wilds of Bedfordshire.
Surprising, then, how tanned his skin was. How broad and powerful his shoulders. How the muscles of the bareness of his back, chest and stomach were so perfectly defined they rippled every time he moved. How that chest was covered in a light dusting of hair as dark and curling as that upon his head …
He smelled divine, too—like the outdoors. Earthy, and somehow untamed. And something else. Something indefinable. Something Amelia found wildly—deliciously—alluring.
Amelia met his gaze boldly. ‘Perhaps my assumption is based on the fact that you did not hesitate to take an unknown woman into your arms earlier—’
‘I believe you have cleansed my wound enough, Amelia!’ Lord Grayson scowled his displeasure as he shifted sharply away from her.
Amelia gave a guilty start as she realised that she had ceased bathing his arm long ago, and had instead been running her fingertips lightly over his scarred torso. Fascinated, simply enjoying the sensation, and watching as the muscles rippled beneath that tanned and taut skin each time she did so.
She turned away to wipe her hands upon the towel. ‘I will need to go downstairs and collect clean bandages.’ Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze lowered to avoiding meeting his piercing grey one as she turned away to place the soiled cloth into the bowl of water before carrying it back to the washstand.
Giving Gray a perfect view of the outline of her voluptuous breasts, her slender waist, and curvaceous hips and thighs, as the light from the candle placed upon the dresser was reflected through the thin material of her nightgown and robe.
The last ten minutes of being tended by his ward had been torture such as Gray had never experienced in his life before. Minutes when he’d had to sit on the side of her bed, completely unmoving, as Amelia stood so close to him that he had been aware of everything about her.
Her breath had been a warm and scented caress against his sensitive flesh. Her long and silky hair like spun gold as it hung loosely about her shoulders and down the length of her spine, on one memorable occasion caressing the bareness of his own shoulders and back as she’d tilted her head the better to tend the graze upon his arm.
And he had been all too aware of her complete nakedness beneath the nightgown and robe as she ran her fingers lightly across his back and chest. His breath had caught in his throat as the firm and creamy swell of her breasts had moved repeatedly within his line of vision, allowing him to discern the size and shape of them. Once again he had been aware of the stirring, hardening, of his own body, and had found himself unable to look away from the tips of those breasts as they’d pressed against the diaphanous material. Tiny twin buds, as tempting and dark as ripe berries—berries that would be sweet and juicy against his lips—
Gray stood up abruptly. ‘I will see to bandaging my own arm.’ His voice was a harsh rasp as he glowered across the room at her. ‘I believe, Amelia, that you have caused me enough discomfort for one evening!’ And in ways Gray did not even wish to even think about. If he did then he might decide not to leave her bedchamber at all tonight!
She blinked at his vehemence. ‘I doubt you will be able to manage alone—’
‘I have managed alone for eight and twenty years, Amelia. I believe I will be able to do so one more night, at least!’
‘But—’
‘I advise you to go to bed and sleep, Amelia,’ Gray instructed her coldly, even as he gathered up