Redeeming the Reclusive Earl - Virginia Heath Page 0,26
rather than witness the awful truth ever again.
Max was still tying his cravat when he slammed out of his bedchamber and, both despairing and fuming, he charged down the stairs to the front door.
He knew it was irrational. Knew he needed to make his peace with it and learn to accept what he could not change no matter how much he willed it. Yet knowing that only served to make things worse. He needed air and space before he was in any fit state to see his sister. At least ten minutes before he could speak, let alone pretend everything in his new garden was rosy. Time to stop the blood rushing loudly in his ears and his heart clanging like a hammer against an anvil in his chest. Before the hovering butler could open it for him, he pulled the door open and plunged through it.
Chapter Seven
Nine circles of hell...
The first Max saw of Miss Nithercott was the startled whites of her eyes as she flew backwards and he only just managed to catch her before the force of his impact sent her tumbling down the unforgiving stone steps. Instinct kicked in and he used both his arms to drag her back to safety, winding himself in the process as she crashed back against him.
As she blinked up at him, he could see her hands curled tightly around his lapels to anchor herself. Just below that, God help him, was one of the most magnificent cleavages he had ever seen. Two perfect rounded mounds strained against the thin fabric and the solid wall of his ribs as her panicked breath sawed in and out. Perfect because they were neither too big nor too small. Encased in soft, peachy skin kissed by the sun. He could feel the press of them through the layers of his coat, waistcoat and shirt. In every nerve ending, too.
Not wanting to be caught staring, he pushed her brusquely to arm’s length and tried to gather his wits. Something which proved near impossible when the woman who had made him yearn in breeches suddenly made his body rampant in a dress.
An outrageously sinful, seductive and spellbinding dress.
One which he was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to peel away.
‘Oh, Miss Nithercott—are you injured?’ Eleanor’s shriek brought him back to his senses. She barrelled past and took control, stealing the new bane of his life cruelly from his arms to check.
‘No. Just a little stunned.’
‘Hardly a surprise when my big oaf of a brother nearly flattened you!’ She glared at him for good measure. ‘What were you thinking, Max?’
He hadn’t been thinking. Just escaping. ‘My apologies, Miss Nithercott. I had no idea you were there.’
‘No idea!’ His sister’s hand swatted his shoulder in disgust. ‘Did you not hear her knock? Did you not see Smithson about to open the door?’ Unimpressed, Eleanor took Effie’s arm and shepherded her towards the drawing room. ‘Fetch the poor thing a sherry, Max. Unless you would prefer a brandy Miss Nithercott? Or tea?’
‘Sherry would be lovely.’
Max stood rooted to the spot as they sailed past, trying and failing not to notice how the magnificent dress hugged her curves or how the glow from the lamps revealed the shadowy shape of her legs beneath the gauzy folds of her skirt, then slowly released the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.
That was certainly one way to take his mind off the panic.
Usually, when his emotions churned unexpectedly out of control it took a good fifteen minutes to talk himself down. Yet apparently, a brief collision with Miss Nithercott banished all traces of panic in a split second and replaced it with inappropriate lust. He wasn’t entirely sure which of his body’s reactions was worse. The panic left him fighting for breath and an armful of Miss Nithercott left him breathless.
‘Shall I tell the kitchen to postpone the soup for a few minutes while Miss Nithercott recovers, my lord?’ Smithson appeared at his elbow, carrying the bane’s tattered leather satchel aloft like a tray and the silliest, flimsiest shawl he had ever seen was sat on top of it. A garment so frivolous it was entirely incongruous with the