Page 23 of How the Earl Entices

When he kissed her lips again, tears stung her eyes. She wanted to believe him but couldn’t. He didn’t remember what she’d been like before, when she’d been so full of beauty and life that men had complimented her by calling her flawless. A flawless diamond shining so brightly…Butsheknew. Every morning when she looked into the mirror, she was reminded of all that had been stolen from her, leaving nothing but ugliness in its place.

“I’m not beautiful.” She twisted her mouth away from his. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I would never lie to a woman about that.”

“Just other things?” she countered peevishly.

But she couldn’t stop a hot shiver when he grinned at her in reply. Such a tantalizingly rakish smile that her heartbeat leapt into a frenzied tattoo so fierce she was certain he could feel it, especially when he strummed his thumb over her bottom lip. Certainly when he caressed his hand down her neck, to that spot where her pulse pounded wildly in the little hollow at the base of her throat. And undoubtedly when he trailed lower still, his fingertips fluttering lightly over the swells of her breasts.

She wore layers upon layers, including the still damp slicker, all of which clung to her skin and grew a damp heat between their two bodies. But she might as well have been utterly bare for the way the intensity of his light touch electrified her.

“Youarebeautiful. You might be keeping secrets, but you can’t hide that, no matter how hard you try.” He traced his fingers along her neckline. “I’d be very happy to prove it to you.”

A strangled sound of desire tore from the back of her throat when his hand slipped beneath her bodice and stays, cupping her fullness against his palm. Warm flesh heated her bare skin, cold from the rain. His fingers teased at her nipple, and the already aching bud tightened even more as he rolled it between his fingers.

He leaned over to claim her mouth again beneath his. Soft sucks at her bottom lip, featherlight caresses over her nipple, the weight of his body pressing deliciously down onto hers— She spun weightless beneath his hard body, ready to float away.

Crash!The sound of splintering wood broke through the silent cottage, followed by the groan of twisting metal.

Ross’s hand covered her mouth. “Shh,” he whispered. “Someone’s breaking in.”

With an arch of his brow for her to keep silent, he rolled away and snatched up the little knife.

“Stay here. If they come after you,” he warned, placing the blade into her shaking hand, “you’ll have to use this. Understand?”

The bottom dropped out of her stomach as she realized that he intended to confront the intruder, and without a weapon.

She grabbed for his hand. “Your pistol! When you were asleep, I hid it in the dresser, beneath my undergarments.”

He crooked a half grin, but his eyes remained serious. “Lucky pistol.”

Then he shook off her hand and headed toward the doorway without it.

“Let me come with you!” The fear flaring inside her pushed her to fight. But more glass shattered, and she flinched, biting back a soft cry.

“Stay here, and donotcome out until I tell you.”

He cautiously slipped into the main room. Grace held her breath as shouts of anger and surprise rang out, followed by more crashes and dull thuds—

She couldn’t bear it a second longer and raced to the dresser, yanked open the drawer and shoved her hand down into a stack of chemises to find the pistol. She ran out into the main room, with the knife gripped tightly in one hand and the pistol in the other, its hammer cocked and ready to fire.

Then she stopped, stunned.

Ross held a young man of no more than fifteen pinned against the wall by his throat. His jaw was set hard and his teeth bared as he leaned threateningly over the lad.

“Do notevercome around here again, do you understand me?” Ross growled menacingly.

The young man nodded, his hands clawing at Ross’s forearm as he dangled against the wall, the toes of his shoes barely touching the floorboards. A gurgling sound came from his throat.

Ross glanced over his shoulder and saw Grace and the weapons she wielded as boldly as last night’s poker. For a fleeting beat, admiration flickered in his eyes.

“She has a pistol,” Ross warned the lad. “And she’s a good shot.”

Grace pointed the gun at the young man and echoed, “A damnably good shot.”

Despite the twitch of Ross’s lips in stifled amusement, the young man’s face paled. Ross yanked him away from the wall and shoved him toward the door.

“Leave,” he ordered as the scrawny lad staggered back and tripped, then scrambled across the floor to flee from the cottage.