When the Earl of Wick sees a portrait of her beloved Peter, and claims he looks just like a wounded warrior working on his highland estate, it only seems logical to hie off to Scotland and meet this man.
To Britannia’s annoyance, she finds herself traveling with the Annoying Earl of Wick, a man who is far too attractive for her peace of mind. A man determined to seduce her…
READ AN EXCERPT OF CALL OF THE WILD WIND BY
SABRINA YORK
Britannia gulped. The command
had utterly thrown her for a loop.
Undress him?
How strange that a curl of
excitement whipped through her belly. She resolved, however, to be as aloof and
blasé as he, and stepped behind him to help him shed his coat.
A frisson of restlessness, a
coil of tension shot through her at the sight of this man in his shirtsleeves.
This was a shockingly intimate tableau. She reminded herself she was his
servant and there was nothing more to it. But when he turned around, so she
could untie his cravat, she began to shake.
She drew in a deep breath and
began working the knot.
All the while, he glared at
her with a muscle pulsing in his cheek. Surely she was not so clumsy or slow to
deserve that.
When she began on his buttons,
he snarled something that sounded like, “Never mind,” and turned away to finish
the job himself.
It wasn’t wrong for her to
watch.
She was a valet, after all.
And, frankly, she was curious.
Besides, it wasn’t as though
she hadn’t seen plenty of naked men in her day. If one counted today.
But oh. That frightening and
dismal experience had done nothing to prepare her for this. As Charles pulled
off his linen shirt, and his bronzed back was revealed, she nearly swallowed
her tongue. Mr. Cole-Winston had not had muscles like that, muscles that
bunched and rippled when he moved. Mr. Cole-Winston had not had a bottom like
that, either. Charles’ bum was beautifully formed and tight. His legs were long
and thick and, all things considered, rather intriguing.
She tried not to stare, but
could not help herself.
Had she really thought naked
men were hideous?
This one was like an Elgin
marble. Perfect. A Greek God.
As he shed the last of his
clothing, and Charles turned to the side to step into the tub, it almost seemed
as though he was shielding his most private parts from her, which was, all in
all, a disappointment.
Everyone knew the most
interesting part of an Elgin marble was the—
“Well?” he barked as he
sloshed into the water.
“Well what?”
He glanced over his shoulder
at her. “Are you going to wash my back?”
Wash his back? Touch him? She gulped. Dare she?
“Well?”
She tipped her head to the
side. “If you wish.”
“I do so.” He waved to the
cloth and soap Will had left on the table and she gathered them up and then
slowly made her way to his side.
She didn’t even try to peek
over his shoulder into the water.
Much.
Unfortunately, it was murky.
Or fortunately. Depending on
one’s point of view.
Gingerly, Britannia dipped the
cloth into the water and made a lather and then began scrubbing Charles’ back.
This was, again, a new
experience for her. And again, a surprising delight. His skin was warm and
smooth. His muscles were finely formed. She found she enjoyed washing him very
much.
He, however, did not seem to
enjoy it at all. His muscles were tense and he moved restlessly as she worked
away on his back.
“Would you like me to wash
your hair?” she asked.
“No,” he snapped, though there was no call for snapping.
“Shall I wash your front as
well?”
He whipped around and frowned
at her, then snatched the cloth away. “No.”
“What would you like me to
do?”
She did not understand the
consternation on his face. Really she didn’t. And…why did he look as though he
was in pain?
“Just turn around.”
An odd command, but she did
so, and then she heard him rise from the water. Her gaze flicked to the mirror
and she froze as she caught a glimpse of…
Good. Glory.
He was magnificent.
And he was aroused.
She knew enough about the way
of the world to spot that right off.
But why would he be aroused by
his valet?
Unless…
Oh dear. She’d heard about
that, too.
She peered at him over her
shoulder as he dried himself with the towel and dressed in what he assumed was
semi-privacy. Oh, he was a beautiful man.
Why should it matter to her if
he preferred young valets over ladies of the ton? It wasn’t as though the two
of them had any kind of future. But somehow it did matter, and the fact that it
did matter irritated her greatly. And made her sad.
Which was ridiculous.
She was in love with Peter.
She had no business wanting any other man. Most
specifically, him.
He turned around without
warning, catching her gaze on him, and he frowned. “This was a mistake,” he
said.
“I beg your pardon, milord?”
His lips twisted bitterly. He raked
his fingers through his hair. “Oh leave off, Britannia. I know it’s you.”
Shock whipped through her. Her
knees wobbled and she sat with a plop on the bed. “What?”
“I know it’s you. How could I not know it’s you? How could any man not know it’s you?”
Well, blast. She put out a
lip. “When did you realize?”
“Really?” He tipped his head
to the side and gaped at her. “The first bluidy moment I saw you by the mail
coach.”
“You did not know then! How
could you?”
He snorted a laugh. “Because
I’ve met you? I know your face. Your expressions. Your smile.”
“Why on earth did you pretend
you did not?”
He snorted again; this one was
not a laugh. “I thought to teach you a lesson.”
She couldn’t help it. She
chuckled.
He was not amused.
“You thought to teach me a
lesson?” How adorable. “Is that why you made me fetch and carry for you?”
“You hardly fetched or carried
anything.”
“I intended to. That counts
for something. And you’re the one who stormed downstairs all growly and rude.”
“Rude? Rude? I was worried about you. You disappeared and didn’t return.”
“I was right there in the—”
“Oh, yes. I heard the songs
they were singing. What do you think your father would say if he knew you’d
been exposed to such language?”
She batted her lashes. “He
would probably think you were the one
who exposed me to it.”
It was wrong of her to be
amused by his chagrin. Or not.
“I was the one who saved you
from a brigand and don’t you forget it.”
There was no call for finger
shaking.
“I won’t forget it. I am
certain my father will be very appreciative.” She frowned at him. “Would you
mind finishing?” Not that she didn’t appreciate the glorious expanse of his
chest, but it was a trifle distracting.
“What?”
She waved at his person. “You
are undone.”
Why he muttered, “You have no
idea,” was a mystery. But he did make an effort to do up his buttons, though he
got them wrong.
“So,” she huffed. “What do we
do now?”
His gaze snapped to hers and
his face went a little red and that muscle in his cheek began bunching again.
“I…what?”
“Are you sending me back to
London?” Might as well throw it out there. But she wasn’t going. If she had to,
she would slip out in the night like a wraith and find some other means of
making her way to Wick.
He huffed a breath and
collapsed into the chair. “We both know how that would end up, don’t we?”
“Do we?” She widened her eyes
in an attempt to look innocent. He was not fooled.
“At this point, it is better
for you to travel with me, where you will be safe. Though we will need to hire
a companion.”
“A companion? Whatever for?”
“You are a lady, remember?”
“Within the last week, I’ve
been a boy and a valet. That seems to have worked out fine.”
“Has it?” He leaned forward
and pinned her with a glare. “What do you think would have happened if I had
not come along when I did this morning?”
She sniffed. “There is no need
to belabor the point. I believe I did thank you.”
“In point of fact, you did
not—”
“Well, thank you—”
“But your gratitude, or lack
thereof, is hardly at issue here. You were in dire danger of being—”
“Being what?”
“Ravaged.” He scrubbed his
face with his palms. “Can you imagine what could have happened?”
“I was prepared to protect
myself.”
For some reason, her
declaration did not appease him. “Really? And how would you have done that?”
She sat up straight and tipped
up her chin. “Caesar has taught me to box.”
“Oh bluidy hell.”
“And I know where a man is
most…vulnerable.”
“That you do.”
Again, she did not understand
his insinuation. “Regardless, it seems perfectly obvious to me. We shall travel
together to Wick, but there is no need for a companion. I can continue posing
as your valet.”
“Wandering around strange inns
and flirting with the stable boys?”
“I was not flirting!”
“It looked like that to me.”
“Will and I were simply being
friendly.”
“And we all know where that
leads, do we not?”
“Balderdash.” She turned away
and stared at the door. “One would think you were jealous, the way you are
carrying on.”
“Jealous?” A roar. One that
shook the room. “To be jealous, I would have to want you for myself.”
The silence that fell,
following his pronouncement, was a deafening one. Slowly, she turned and looked
at him.
His eyes burned. His face was
a mask. His hands were closed into fists.
And she saw it there. On his
face, in his expression.
An unholy thrill rose up within
her. Because there, in that moment, all thoughts of Peter faded. No man existed
but this one. This large, perfectly-formed, glorious specimen. And she realized
that her impatience with him, her restlessness in his presence all along, had
been speaking to one thing and one thing only.
She desired him, this man who
was not her betrothed.
It was really something of a
surprise, but not nearly as surprising as the realization that he wanted her as
well.
He stood and prowled across
the room. He stopped just short of her, touching her with nothing but his
breath.
“Britannia, I am trying to be
an honorable man.”
She stood as well and faced
him, toe-to-toe. “The way an honorable man pretends not to recognize a lady in
distress so he can use her as his servant?”
“I think I explained, I was
trying to teach you a lesson.”
“Which is so very flattering
really. Women love it when men show them their place.”
“It was not meant like that
and you know it.”
“Do I?”
“Goddamn it, Britannia…”
“Such language. Whatever would
my father say?”
“I believe he would say you
are in need of a spanking.”
Her eyes widened. Outrage
swelled. If he even tried, she would saw him open with the butter knife. “You
are something of a beast, you know.”
“I am a Scot,” he snarled.
“What else would you expect?”
Well, there was no answer for
that.
But then, he didn’t expect
one.
Rather, he took that last step
toward her, yanked her into his arms, and kissed her.
It was not a gentle, demure or
respectful kiss. Not in the slightest. It was like the wild wind on the moors.
A crashing tumult of a storm at sea.
And it was mind-boggling.
Thank you for sharing!
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