Dicing with the Dangerous Lord - By Margaret McPhee Page 0,83

the ties, allowing both to slither down in the wake of her dress. She stepped free of the clothing pooled around her feet and, reaching up, plucked the pins from her hair, so that the tight pinned coils unwound, to spill long and free and beckoning, over her shoulders. The fullness of her breasts nosed through the long curling strands of hair, the pale flesh so stark in contrast to the ebony of her hair, the rose-pink tips already defined and taut.

He could not help his eyes from tracing every line of that hourglass body, the roundness of her breasts, following in to the slender waist and soft womanly belly, and out to the curve of her hips. And despite everything of their situation, despite that he was a man used to wielding a control of iron over his feelings and desires, and the fact that the turnkeys were undoubtedly listening at the door, his body’s reaction was as uncontrolled and immediate as if he were still in his salad days.

The grille within the door slid open suddenly and the face of a turnkey leered in.

Venetia must have heard the opening of the grille, but she did not look round, just stood there, with her head held high, naked save for her white silken shoes and stockings.

However, Linwood moved swiftly to block the lecherous little man’s view before he had a chance to see what every man in London had wanted all these years, producing a wad of notes from his pocket, to dangle before the guard’s face.

‘To ensure that the grille remains closed for the duration of this day and the night that will follow.’

The turnkey’s greedy little eyes fixed on the roll of banknotes.

‘The same sum to follow in the morning when you have upheld our deal,’ Linwood said coldly.

The turnkey licked his narrow lips at the temptation, but he still hesitated, his gaze flitting beyond Linwood’s shoulder in a fruitless attempt to catch even the smallest glimpse of Venetia.

Linwood leaned his face closer to the grille and smiled a smile that held all the deadly promise that was in his heart.

The turnkey blanched in response.

Linwood lowered his voice and looked the man in the eye. ‘The lady is my wife. And I am charged with the murder of a duke, no less. Yet I will be set free. I am sure that you understand how I will deal with any other man who looks upon her naked form. Do you think the law will prevent me?’

The little man swallowed nervously. ‘I’ll ensure that does not happen, my lord. Many congratulations on your nuptials.’

‘I am glad we understand each other.’ Linwood held the money to the grille, and a grubby hand relieved him of it.

‘Much obliged, m’lord.’ The cover snapped shut against the grille.

He turned to the sight that the man had been so desperate to see—the rear view of Venetia. The daylight kissed her body, marking its glory and its nakedness as all the more shocking. She had not moved, just stood there as if she were carved of the same perfect white marble as Venus herself, seemingly proud and cool and untouched by the man’s lechery or anything that was unfolding around her. He did not let himself acknowledge a single one of the emotions that were crowding in his chest. He had married her, and now he would lie with her, to save her and himself. He did not let his mind think any further than that.

He walked round to stand before her. ‘We will not be interrupted again.’

She gave a single regal nod, but still her eyes would not meet his.

He peeled off his coat and threw it to land on the table he used both for dining and letter writing, then loosened the knot in his cravat and, pulling the wrapped linen free, let it flutter to the ground. His waistcoat followed before he unfastened the button of his shirt collar, shrugging the fine white linen off over his head and discarding it. He sat down on the chair to divest himself of his boots and stockings. And then stood to drop his breeches and drawers. When he came to her once more he was naked.

Her focus remained upon some distant spot in the corner of the cell, but as he stood there and waited she slowly moved her gaze to meet his.

Her eyes really were like Rotherham’s, the pale blue silver such a stark contrast with the darkness of their expanding pupils,