Reckless - By Anne Stuart Page 0,87

Charlotte said, more out of a wish to see Lina's response than a belief in the truth. Not that she planned to say anything about it, but it seemed to Charlotte that Lina was completely vulnerable from the top of her neatly coiffed and braided black hair to the hem of her demure dress.

And how typical. The unfairness of life was quite extraordinary. If one of them was to fall in love with a sober parson and the other with a libertine, surely their roles should have been reversed.

She made a sudden, choking sound.

"What's wrong?" Lina demanded, her concern momentarily distracting her from her anger with the

"Nothing," Charlotte muttered, secretly horrified. In love with? Where had that thought come from?

It was ridiculous, absurd, sheer madness. How could anyone fall in love with a seff-indulgent sensualist like Adrian Rohan? It was as absurd as thinking Lina had fallen in love with the parson.

Except that Lina had changed her clothes, her behavior, and couldn't seem to keep her mind off Mr.

Pagett. And Charlotte felt her recalcitrant stomach lurch.

But she was nothing if not resilient, and she smiled brightly at Lina, not revealing her inner turmoil.

"Mr. Pagett sounds most unpleasant. Which is a shame. He seemed like a most pleasant-spoken gentleman."

"Don't be misled by his handsome face," Lina said darkly. "He's a snake."

The more Lina protested the more Charlotte was intrigued. Lina was much too interested in Montague's friend, no matter how much she denied it.

and Charlotte was tempted to point it out to her, then thought better of it. She was too weary to argue.

She slept, and dreamed of Adrian, his hands caressing her body, his smiling, handsome mouth brushing hers. She hoped he was suffering. Men were less able to hide their arousal, and she'd had no doubt at all that he'd wanted her, quite badly.

Was he lying alone in his bed, hard, aching, regretting his stupid, callous treatment? Probably not.

He could take care of the problem himself, couldn't he? Lina had explained it to her one time—that men, that Adrian, would use those deft, beautiful hands on himself, bringing his own release.

And presumably she could do the same. She remembered waking occasionally, lying on her stomach, rocking against her fists, feeling flushed and feverish. She certainly wasn't going to do that again. She had no particular interest in getting better acquainted with the mysteries between her legs. She was for more curious about his parts. She wanted to look at him, touch him. During those long hours she'd never had a chance.

Adrian probably didn't plan to endure a night of frustration or the substitute ministrations of his own strong, beautiful hand. There would be scores of women who'd shared his bed. All it would require would be a note, or a surprise visit, and they'd lift their skirts for him as easily as she did. If he wanted to avoid entanglements he could always do what his friends had suggested and visit the notorious Madame Kate's.

He had countless ways to deal with their unfinished business and she had nothing. Heartless bas-

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tard, she thought, feeling her bile rise again.

She made it to Hensley Court but not much farther. The carriage pulled to a stop and she took a dive out the door, not even waiting for the footman to lower the steps. She landed on her knees in the gravel and proceeded to become embarrassingly, miserably sick.

"Travel sickness," she said wanly when Lina and Meggie rushed to her side. "Too much jostling in the coach. I feel fine now."

Lina eyed her, unable to disguise her worry. "Have you been ill before today, dearest?"

"No, thank heavens. That is, my stomach has felt a bit off for days now, but this is the first time I've cast up my accounts."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lina and Meggie exchange glances. 'Tm fine," she said again, nettled. "Just happy to be out of that wretched coach." Unbidden, the memory of the last coach she'd been in returned, Rohan's mouth on hers, his hand between her legs, his hot, solid body beneath hers in the velvety darkness. She groaned.

Simon Pagett met them in the massive front hall, and Charlotte had just enough energy to notice that his eyes went straight to Lina. So whatever lay between them wasn't one-sided. "Thomas is sleeping," he said. "Your rooms are ready—you may as well use the time to rest. The doctor's just been here. He's mystified—just when he thinks it's the end, Thomas rallies. He