My Fair Marchioness (Scandalous Affairs Book 3) by Christi Caldwell (best short books to read txt) 📗

“Hardly seemed fair that my godmother’s servant got to make the determination as to who was worthy or not of the flowers.”

Words… failed. She attempted to get them out.

He reached inside his fine wool coat and removed a purse. “Here,” he said, handing that sleek sack out.

Of their own volition, her hand immediately shot up, claiming that most precious of gifts, and her fingers brushed his.

Heat. And warmth. Fingers that were not stained with dirt and grime as hers were, but yet somehow, the long, golden digits evinced strength.

She hurriedly snatched her palm back. “Thank you,” she said quickly. The weight and clink of coins within indicated he’d proffered a small fortune.

The carriage door opened once more. “Darling,” the stunning creature called out. Impatience lent her voice a whine.

The gentleman, whose name was nothing other than “darling” to Julia, winked. “As I said, patience is a virtue.” He cast a glance to where her assailants lay motionless on the ground, and she followed his stare.

They’d begun to stir.

“I’ve had the constable fetched.”

Her stomach lurched. Oh, God. No. What had he done? He’d meant well.

As if on cue, a pair of constables came rushing over and proceeded to drag the pair to their feet and off.

“You needn’t worry about them any longer,” the handsome stranger said, with the assurance and confidence of a man who had absolutely no idea how these streets worked.

“Come, darling. We shall be late.”

He sighed, lingering still, and for a moment, Julia thought he intended to stay. That he, at the very least, intended to say something more.

But then, with a bow, he tipped the brim of his high hat and left.

He’d bowed?

And tipped his hat?

At her?

They were peculiar details to fixate on, considering the stranger had left her with a veritable fortune, or at least enough to see her and Adairia’s rent paid and to more than match a month’s work of peddling flowers.

Gathering up the crate, Julia stood there, staring half dazed as the gentleman drew himself inside the conveyance. A servant pushed the door shut, and after he climbed back atop the box alongside the driver, the carriage lurched into motion.

For the first time in Julia’s life, her heart fluttered, and her thoughts were in disarray, and as the carriage drove off, she thought mayhap Adairia wasn’t altogether wrong. Perhaps magic truly did exist for people like her after all.

Chapter 2

Over the years, there were any number of emergencies Harris Clarendale, the sixth Marquess of Ruthven, had solved for his godmother and her two friends.

Said emergencies had included rescuing a cat who’d climbed a tree on the junglelike grounds she called gardens at her Mayfair home. Granted, there had been any number of footmen and servants closer at hand of similar height and frame, but who, according to the eccentric duchess, didn’t have his prowess in climbing trees.

For her latest crisis, the servants had chosen the wrong shade of flower to adorn one of her elaborate balls, and he’d been needed to scour hothouses all over London to acquire all the white blooms he could.

Only to arrive with his carriage full and his servants unloading the flowers before discovering she’d opted for pink.

Which had then resulted in the next emergency of finding a purpose and home for those blooms so they wouldn’t go to waste. Which, of course, had led to her next catastrophe—finding the most proper home.

“You can say no to her,” the naked beauty sprawled on her side reminded Harris as he shook free the remnants of water from his hair. “And yes to this.” Lady Sarah Windermere let her legs part in invitation, revealing a bare, shaved apex.

Seeing his attention on that place between her thighs, she smiled and slid a palm over her mon and slipped a finger inside. “I’m ready for you, darling. Come feel.”

She’d been ready every time they met for their month-long arrangement. However, her shrewish displays last week, when he’d been handing out those flowers for his godmother and when he’d come upon the young woman being assaulted in the streets, had marked the moment he’d known their time together was at an end. Yes, the auburn-haired woman had been lovely, but that certainly hadn’t merited Sarah’s coldness or impatience. There was no place in Harris’s life for a woman so clingy as to have taken offense at his aiding another woman.

“I’m afraid I have to leave, sweet,” he said, reaching for his trousers.

Her eyes grew slightly hazy and her breathing labored as she stroked herself, her efforts a carnal feast for the eyes that proved too much even to him with his growing ennui toward the lady.

Drawn to that bed, Harris padded across the room and perched himself on the edge of the mattress.

The countess immediately lifted her mouth to his, and he claimed it in the kiss she craved. Moaning, she grabbed his hand, putting it to that place she’d been petting herself moments ago, and he obliged.

“Feel how wet I am for you, Ruthven,” she panted.

Knock, knock, knock.

“My Ladyship, an envoy is waiting downstairs for your guest.” The announcement came muffled by the carved oak slab, but the impatience of the speaker was as clear as the light of day.

“It is your godmother and her friends again. Oh, stuff those old busybodies,” Lady Sarah breathed against his mouth, and tenacious like English ivy, she switched positions so she straddled his waist and thrust her generous bosom forward in his face. “They can wait. I cannot.” She trailed a path of kisses down his cheek, biting him as she went. “And neither can you.” She wrapped her fingers around his swollen cock and squeezed.

Old busybodies. Those old busybodies had been like a trio