Page 21 of After the Abduction

Until the very end and that last kiss…

He swore under his breath. This mature Juliet was far too clever for her own good. The impertinent baggage had smoothly tried to trap him into telling the truth—first, by dictating her arguments like a little Napoleon, and then, when that hadn’t worked, by pretending that “his brother” had debauched her.

Ah, but he’d had his revenge, hadn’t he? He’d shown her up for a liar…and made things worse in the bargain. What idiot kissed a woman to prove that he wasn’t who she thought he was? Instead of staying away from her?

By thunder, she knew precisely how to provoke him, with her intelligent dissection of his past and her innocent observations about his prowess with women…Not to mention a body created for the express purpose of driving a grown man full out of his wits, a mouth so luscious he could have fed on it half the night long…

He scowled down at the appendage turning the bedclothes into a tent. “See what you made me do, you blasted, whoremongering—”

Devil take it, now he was talking to his penis. What next?

He glanced to the window, relieved to see that he’d slept unusually late and the sun was high. With any luck, Juliet and her pesky relations were already heading for London. Of course, with the way his life had gone lately, that was probably too much to hope.

Grumbling about the plagues of women, he left the bed and went to splash cold water on his face. Though he ought to be splashing it on his unruly John Thomas.

He glared down at his bulging drawers. “What the devil are you thinking?” The unrepentant portion of his anatomy bobbed mindlessly. “You’ve never been one to stand to attention for every pretty face—why must you do it for her, of all women?”

He knew why: because she’d grown into a delightful armful. But any man who marched to the beat of his John Thomas was marching straight into disaster.

Fine. Naive, adoring Juliet had grown up. She’d changed from a child playing at being a woman, to a woman playing at being Delilah. That didn’t mean he should let her practice her newly acquired feminine wiles on him.

Though she’d finally seemed to believe him last night, one slip of his tongue could still change her mind, so he had to be careful, keep on his guard. He must remember that the innocent angel who’d taken his every word at face value had grown up into a devious, calculating…tempting…seductive…

There went his randy John Thomas again. “Stop that!” he growled at it. “You are only making everything worse.”

“Milord?” came a voice behind him.

Blast, he hadn’t heard his valet enter. “Nothing, Boggs. I was thinking aloud. And when the devil did you stop knocking, anyway?”

“My apologies, your lordship. I thought I heard you call for me.”

No, I was talking to my willful cock. He could hardly say that, could he? “It’s of no matter. Fetch my clothes, will you?” He needed a moment to regain his control.

“Are we dressing for pistol designing today, milord? Or for entertaining guests?”

Sebastian kept his back to the valet. “Surely the guests have left already.”

“No, milord. There was a heavy snow in the night. ’Tis a foot or more, too heavy for the carriage to manage. It’ll take a day or two to melt.”

He groaned. “Which means my guests are staying until it does.”

“Don’t see as they have much choice. They can’t travel to London in that mess.”

What a catastrophe. Two days of Juliet’s blithe comments and Knighton’s probing questions, and he’d be offering his own neck to the noose just to escape them. Besides, what if Morgan arrived while they were here? That would be sheer disaster.

Wait until he got his hands on his troublemaking uncle. When Sebastian finished with him, Uncle Lew wouldn’t be so quick to offer shelter to dangerous strangers.

Boggs cleared his throat. “Milord? Your clothing?”

“Right. Do I still have that morning suit of superfine you drool over? The one with the patterned velvet waistcoat I never wear?”

“Oh yes, milord, you do!”

Boggs had always been eager to put his master in a “proper suit of clothes,” as he called it. The poor man never got to demonstrate his talent as a valet. Half the time, Sebastian went around in fustian. It didn’t stain like the finer materials, so he didn’t ruin a suit of clothes every hour.

“I’ll wear the superfine then.”

“And the silk stockings?” Boggs said hopefully.