Whirlwind Wedding by Jacquie D'Alessandro

out of his ruined shirt.
    "I'll have a bath drawn immediately, your grace," Kingsbury said gingerly holding Austin's muddy attire as far away from himself as possible.
    Several minutes later, Austin eased himself into a huge tub of steaming water and closed his eyes with a contented sigh. His mind suddenly flashed to an image of Elizabeth, who was no doubt stepping into her own fragrant bath, her magnificent hair cascading down her back in a mass of glorious curls.
    He imagined himself joining her in the tub, his wet hands gliding over her full breasts, teasing her nipples into hard peaks. Austin . . . she would groan in that heated smoky voice. He saw himself lean forward and draw one ripe nipple between his lips and suckle until she moaned in pleasure.
    "Are you all right, your grace?" Kingsbury called through the door.
    Yanked from his sexual reverie, Austin realized with no small amount of chagrin that he had been the one moaning, a most annoying habit of late, it seemed.
    "Yes, Kingsbury, I'm fine," he snapped.
    Damn.
    This was turning out to be a very irritating house party.
    At dinner that evening, Austin sat at the head of the table and surreptitiously observed Elizabeth. She sat at the far end next to a young viscount whose gaze grew more admiring as the meal wore on. Austin couldn't decide whether to applaud Caroline or curse her fashion efforts on Elizabeth's behalf. By the fifth course, the damn viscount couldn't seem to stop staring at her.
    And who could blame him? She looked breathtaking in a low-cut, coppery-colored gown that showcased her full breasts and creamy skin.
    Austin noted with ever-growing grimness how the viscount's admiring gaze often strayed to the tantalizing skin swelling above her bodice.
    And her hair. God! A single clip held the loosely gathered mass of curls on top of her head. Wispy tendrils surrounded her face and shoulders, and the rest fell down her back in a shimmering curtain of satiny ringlets. No doubt the seductive coiffure was again the work of Caroline's abigail. He didn't know whether to fire the woman or triple her salary.
    He'd made it a point to avoid Elizabeth in the drawing room before dinner, but he'd been intensely aware of her every single movement, a fact that irked him to no end. He had to stop this . . . this whatever it was he was doing with her. Kissing her, touching her were blatant errors in his normally fine-tuned better judgment. And they were errors he could not afford to repeat.
    After spending most of the afternoon reflecting, he'd decided his only course of action was to wait. Wait for Miles to return from London. Wait to receive information from his Bow Street Runner. Wait to get further instructions from the blackmailer. He chafed at the necessity, but there was no alternative.
    After their time together at the lake, it was nearly impossible to believe that she was working in cahoots with the blackmailer or indeed knew anything about the letter he'd received. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it became clear that she simply possessed an uncanny intuition that she placed far too much credence in. She believed her visions were real and had told him about them to help him. She wasn't vicious or out to harm him. She was merely . . . misguided.
    Misguided . . . and tempting beyond all endurance. She set his blood on fire and he could not seem to exorcise her from his thoughts. And that damned viscount sitting next to her was now openly ogling her.
    With each passing course, Austin's mood grew grimmer and he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the inane conversations going on around him.
    "I believe you're in a brown study, your grace," a female voice remarked in a throaty undertone. A gloved hand brushed over his and he forced his attention back to his immediate surroundings. Countess Millham, the woman seated on his left, sent him a coy smile. Since her elderly husband's convenient death two years ago, the countess had engaged in