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A breeze whistled across his nether regions.
Pierce grimaced. It could have been worse, he supposed. At least the day was
mild with no sign of rain. He peered into the distance. Only the deeply grooved
road cutting its path through the gentle hills hinted at civilisation. He
grimaced again. Where the bloody hell was he?
He curled a fist and began trudging along the
grass at the side of the road. Stones pricked his bare feet.
“Bloody Goddamn it.”
Pierce was going to kill Giles if he lived
through this. He hadn’t intended to visit their favourite gambling den, but
Giles just had to talk him into it. Nor had he meant to get utterly foxed. He
hardly remembered wagering everything including his clothes. As for how he’d
ended up naked on the roadside...
“Bloody Goddamn it all to hell.”
One final wager...He had vague recollections.
Something to do with a race? Damnation, if only his head wasn’t so fuzzy. But
even then, why had Giles left him to sleep it off in a field—naked?
The rumble of a carriage made him stiffen. He
wouldn’t get far with his bare feet. A form of transport would be useful
indeed. But who would give a naked man a ride? Pierce shrugged to himself and
turned, cupping one hand over himself to preserve what little modesty he had
left and using the other to gain the driver’s attention.
The black, glossy carriage rumbled closer, led
by two horses. He saw the driver glance his way then look again before turning
his head away. Dirt spattered his legs making him jump back as it rolled past.
“Rot in hell then,” he muttered half-heartedly
and resisted the urge to scuff his bare foot across the ground.
A command from the driver reached his ears and
he held his breath as the horses came to a halt. The vehicle stopped. Both
hands over the family jewels, Pierce waited. The door swung open.
“Thank you,” he uttered, lifting his gaze to
the heavens, and hurried toward the carriage. He cursed under his breath when
several more rocks jabbed the soles of his feet.
Trying to look as noble as one could when
naked, he paused in front of the open door. There, in the dark confines of the
vehicle and set against plush royal blue seats, an elegant redhead skimmed her
gaze up and down his body. Even in the gloom of the carriage, he saw an eyebrow
rise. Then he noted the curve of her lips.
Pierce stared back. He allowed his own gaze to
travel over her, observing the generous rise of her breasts against a low cut
bodice and the slender waist that led to hips that were emphasised by a bustle.
Hair coiled high, it gave him a fine view of the gems on her neck and ears.
From the delicate porcelain skin to the emeralds casting a faint green hew
across it, everything about this woman told him of her importance.
And her attractiveness. He had to force his
gaze from her breasts or else both hands wouldn’t conceal anything.
Samantha lives in a small village in England
with her gorgeous twin girls. She enjoys writing historical romance involving
chivalrous knights, hot highlanders and cravatted men, but sometimes gets lured
away by bad boy bikers, soldiers and other heroic modern men.